


tell me which one is worse, living or dying first

by ConverseQueen



Series: you should see me in a crown [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abduction, Abusive Dursley Family (Harry Potter), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Amputation, Beauxbatons, Blaise Zabini is a Good Friend, Child Soldiers, Civil War, Cold War, Conflict, Dark Harry, Dark Lord Harry Potter, Dark Mark (Harry Potter), Durmstrang, Eavesdropping, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Families of Choice, Female Harry Potter, Frenemies, Gen, Good Albus Dumbledore, Good Harry Potter, Guerrilla Warfare, Harry Potter is Bad at Feelings, Harry Potter is a Horcrux, Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, Healthy Relationships, Hogwarts Chamber of Secrets, Hogwarts Triwizard Champion is a Slytherin, Horcrux Hunting, Hufflepuff & Slytherin Inter-House Friendships, Hurt Harry Potter, Imprisonment, Injury Recovery, Leadership, Lists, Magical Tattoos, Major Character Injury, Male-Female Friendship, Manipulation, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Manipulative Harry Potter, Manipulative Tom Riddle, Mental Instability, Mental Institutions, Mental Link, Mercenaries, Misguided Albus Dumbledore, Modern Assassins, Morally Ambiguous Character, Not What It Looks Like, Overprotective Sirius Black, Past Child Abuse, Plans, Plans For The Future, Politics, Possessive Behavior, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prejudice Against Slytherins, Protective Remus Lupin, Protective Slytherins, Ravenclaw Harry Potter, Rebellion, Rituals, Sane Tom Riddle, Scheming, Secret Organizations, Seer Harry Potter, Seer Luna Lovegood, Self-Insert, Slytherin Harry Potter, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Smart Harry Potter, Spies & Secret Agents, Strategy & Tactics, Teenage Tom Riddle, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Threats, Torture, Triwizard Tournament, Unhealthy Relationships, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:08:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 139,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26163883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConverseQueen/pseuds/ConverseQueen
Summary: People will do a lot to save their own skin (until they find something better to fight for).
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Series: you should see me in a crown [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1899988
Comments: 142
Kudos: 643





	1. your silence is my favorite sound

"Potter, Harriet."

Ettie kept her back straight and her eyes forward. Refused to glance at the whispering, gasping, squealing, muttering crowd. When she got to the stool, Ettie did not sit. She held out a hand and waited until the Professor gave her the hat. Keeping her face blank had never been so hard, but Ettie was confident she was expressionless as the hat slipped down over her eyes and nose. 

It smelled faintly of strawberries.

_Why thank you, my dear._

_That's not a compliment. I hate strawberries_.

The hat chuckled. _You had better save the lies for someone who isn't inside your head._

_Will do. Now put me in Ravenclaw._

_Ravenclaw? Oh no, you're a Slytherin if I ever saw one!_

_Do I care? Put me in Ravenclaw._

_Honestly, child. You'll be miserable there! You're possibly the least curious First Year I've come across yet._

_I. Do not. Care. Put me in Ravenclaw._

_But--_

_Ravenclaw._

_Now hold on just one--_

_Ravenclaw._

_CHILD!_

_Ravenclaw._

_Oh, for_ \--"RAVENCLAW!"

_Pleasure doing business with you, Mr Hat._

_Do shut up._

Ettie handed the hat back to McGonagall. Her lips were twitching upwards so Ettie turned the expression into a bland smile. Without prompting, Ettie spun and marched her way to the appropriate table, which was roaring with applause. 

They'd change their minds soon enough. 

...

"Did you see her? That's the Girl-Who-Lived!"

"Duh, Sanders."

"She's so short! Like, my cousin Lizzy is taller and she's only eight!"

"Ha, and she's even wearing heels."

"Rude is what she is! I don't think I've seen her talk to a single person, not even the Professors."

"Maybe she's mute?"

"Don't be daft. I'm in her Transfiguration class and she said all the spells just fine."

"Bet she thinks she's too good for us."

"She could be shy."

"Shhh! She's coming this way!"

...

Ettie, though she would never admit it, was having the time of her life. People whispered, sure, but nobody laid hand or wand on her. A month in, every Professor bar Snape and McGonagall had stopped calling on her in class. Her dormmates hadn't spoken to her in weeks. And on top of all that, the castle had enough dark corners and shadowy nooks to make her little anti-social heart swell with joy. 

As if all that wasn't enough, no suspicious characters or ominous dreams haunted her. Quirrel barely looked Ettie's way. Snape was nasty, but nothing like he was to the original Harry Potter. Dumbledore seemed content to ignore her completely, eyes more often drawn to Neville Longbottom. 

Ettie had a theory about that. In the original world (she refused to call it cannon like some obsessive fanfiction writer) the prophecy referred specifically to a male hero. And Ettie was very much a girl. So...really, aside from Lily Potter's sacrifice saving her from the Killing Curse, she didn't have anything to do with the whole war. 

(She hoped. Ettie had never actually read the last two books, and the Internet couldn't be trusted.)

...

Halloween. 

It left Ettie feeling even more sour than usual. Lily and James Potter were murdered on this day, ten years prior. They died for an undead teenage brat that wasn't even their daughter, an ungrateful, selfish parasite. 

Ettie skipped every class and meal that day, listlessly exploring in the rarely traveled parts of the castle. Unfortunately, her solitude didn't last long.

"Leave us be," Hermione Granger's trembling voice demanded. Ettie ghosted forward so she was peering through the gap between the wall and door of her abandoned classroom.

Three Gryffindor First Years were trapped in a blocked-off corridor by an older Slytherin. Ettie couldn't see his face, but she could see Granger, Weasley and Longbottom's just fine. 

The Slytherin laughed and it was incongruously lovely. Ettie shuddered. Cruel men shouldn't be given kind laughs or gentle faces. They got away with everything that way.

"No," the boy replied easily. It least his voice was nothing special. If it had been honey-smooth she would have been convinced it was her Before brother, reborn to torment her forever.

Ettie flinched despite herself when he raised his wand.

"Expelliarmus!" Granger squeaked. Nothing happened and any other day, with any other person, Ettie would have laughed at the shocked indignation on Granger's face. It was probably the first time she'd failed to get a spell.

"Cute," the Slytherin said. "Let me show you."

And then all three of their wands flew through the air. Ettie was frozen. She couldn't just stand there and watch three children get attacked. But. What about her no-interference policy? That was why she wouldn't speak, why she was in Ravenclaw--nothing interesting or threatening about that house.

Hermione shrieked with laughter and Ettie recoiled. Laughter?! Then she saw the wand pointed her way. Tickling charm. 

Granger's body jerked and spasmed and tears ran down her face. She was laughing, but...It was more like sobbing at this point. The girl collapsed to the ground, writhing.

With a roar, Weasley charged. The Slytherin levitated him into the air and began to spin him. Around and around, faster and faster, until vomit splattered the ground. Ettie's breathing came in gasps. Her hand was tight around her wand.

Then the boy dropped Weasley in his own sick and turned his wand back on Hermi--on Granger. Longbottom stepped in front of her, arms splayed.

"Le-leave her al-al-alone!" 

"You're a Pureblood," the absolute jackass mused. "And from a good family. Move and I'll let you go."

"No! I-I won't!" 

_Step aside, girl._

_No! Not Ettie, not my baby! Take me instead!_

Ettie was moving before she consciously decided to. She slid into the corridor, raising her wand. She knew the word. She knew the wand movement. She knew that this tool was going down.

"Stupefy," she hissed. And the Slytherin collapsed.

Three Firsties stared up at her with varying levels of awe, covered in tears and snot and vomit. Ettie turned and (she did not run!) calmly walked away. 

...

Adrian Carrow was suspended the next day.

Ettie considered it karma that she had three overly social eleven year olds making a point of nodding, smiling and saying hi in the hallway from that moment on.

In turn she made it a point to be unpleasant-blank rather than neutral-blank whenever she saw them.

They still didn't give up, though at least they didn't try to talk with her. Still, by Christmas Ettie was looking forward to getting the Invisibility Cloak from Dumbledore with a fervor that surprised her.

Only.

Only it never came. Ettie woke up Christmas morning to not a single present. It wasn't exactly different from the past ten Christmases, but...that Cloak was hers by birthright. It was from her fath--from James Potter. Not to mention how useful it was!

Mechanically, Ettie dressed and went down to the Great Hall for breakfast. The first thing she noticed was Dumbledore wincing minutely when he met her gaze. The second was how excited the Gryffindor Stalkers were, Longbottom in particular. 

The dots connected.

Ettie shoved her chair back and stalked from the table, ignoring how people exclaimed and called out after her.

Dumbledore. Gave _Longbottom_. Her only family Heirloom! 

She broke into a run, hurtling up the stairs. Doors burst open before she reached them and ghosts scurried out of her way. Ettie was going to scream.

...

That afternoon, Ettie looked up eavesdropping spells in the slightly illegal book she'd nicked from the bookshop just off Diagon Alley and practiced until her fingers ached.

Then she followed the Gryffindor Stalkers at a safe distance as they returned to their common room and noted the password. 

Nightfall came. Ettie marched up to the snoozing Lady, knocked briskly on the frame, and said,

"Leo." 

It swung open.

After that it was short work finding Longbottom's dorm, and even shorter work stealing her own property. The idiot left the thing on top of his trunk.

...

From there on out, Ettie spent more time under the Cloak than not. She only emerged for classes and to sleep. Meals were taken in the kitchen, which she finally found during a late night jaunt. 

House elves, despite being loud and squeaky and aggressively helpful, were much easier to talk to than people. They weren't so judgy. And they knew how to leave well enough alone.

Unfortunately, there were drawbacks to her optimally people-free school life. After the first week of eating in the kitchens, Flickwick called her into his office. A blank piece of parchment and a self inking quill sat front and center.

"Ah, Miss Potter. Thank you for coming."

He pushed the quill towards her.  
  
"I understand that you don't feel comfortable conversing verbally, but this discussion needs to be had. Please, sit."

Ettie sat as rigidly as possible, trying to scream discomfort with her body language. 

"The staff is concerned about you, Miss Potter. You have yet to even attempt to make friends, and now you are skipping meals. Is there anything you would like to tell me?"

_Oh, sure. Just that I'm a reborn teenager from a world where this world is a book series. Also I'm the main character but I'm putting my life ahead of everyone else's because I don't want to die and be reborn into an abusive environment for the third time in a row. The usual_.

Ettie grabbed the quill. 'I don't want friends. I'm eating in the kitchens.'

Flickwick frowned. "I hope you understand that this is not healthy behavior. A lack of social interaction can stunt growth. I do not want this to happen to you, Miss Potter."

'I don't really care. I'll be fine.'

"I don't think you quite understand the severity of the situation," Flickwick sighed. "If improvement is not seen, the Headmaster will be forced to take action."

'Explain.' 

"Magic in the hands of an unstable child can be more dangerous than you know. There are homes to attempt rehabilitation of such children."

Ettie focused on keeping her face blank, but her heart rate had already picked up more than she'd like to admit. That sounded bad. Flickwick leaned forward in his chair, dark eyes earnest.

"Miss Potter, you are an intelligent young woman, and I would hate to see your potential wasted. Please, think on the information I've given you."

She nodded sharply, stood, and left. Ettie had a 'friend' to find.

...

It took Ettie two days to pinpoint the perfect candidate. She needed someone quiet enough not to bother her much, intelligent enough not to bore her, and power-hungry enough to stick with the Girl-Who-Lived even though there was nothing worth staying for in Ettie herself. Not to mention they couldn't be someone she remembered from the original world.

Also they had to be a Slytherin. Just because she wanted to spite Dumbledore. 

Blaise Zabini fit all of the criteria and then some, seeing as he was bitingly sarcastic and would be quite the looker when he was grown. Now all she needed was a game plan. 

Ettie pondered several authentic-appearing schemes to befriend him, but in the end decided the truth would be the best trap. Zabini, she had noticed, was insatiably curious. He chased everything even remotely interesting, and if there was a single good thing about Ettie was that she was the definition of strange.

So in the end it went like this: using her Cloak, Ettie stalked Zabini until he was alone and then dragged him into an empty classroom. 

"I need you to be my friend," she said blandly and got absolutely no pleasure at all from how fast his jaw dropped, no sir, not at all.

(Bait the trap.)

"What?"

Ettie raised an eyebrow. "I picked you because you're intelligent, Zabini. Do keep up."

(Honey and a hint of vinegar catches more flies than either on its own.)

To his credit, Zabini rallied quickly. 

"Do forgive me Potter, I wasn't at all surprised by being abducted in the name of friendship."

"Forgiven," she said, waving a hand. "Now, yes or no."

(Playing aloof isn't just useful for romance.)

"I wasn't aware you were asking." His tone was acidic, but Zabini was smirking. Ettie saw the light in his golden eyes.

"I'm not." 

"Mm. What's in it for me?"

"Again, I thought you were intelligent."

(Boys could never resist a challenge.) 

Zabini laughed and Ettie had to admit she was impressed. An eleven or twelve year old boy really had no business being so sharp.

"Alright, Potter. I'll be your...friend."

(Hook, line, sinker.) 

...

"Miss Potter seems to be doing better," Filius remarked idly, sipping at his tea. 

Minerva's eyes were locked on the Slythein table where Miss Potter sat with Mr Zabini, isolated at the far end. They weren't exactly the picture of friendship but there was genuine conversation between the two of them. 

"I can hardly believe it," she muttered. "I thought for sure..."

"That her brains were forever addled by Dark Magic?" Severus said, sneering. "I do believe you are correct."

"Severus!" Pomona scolded. "I think it's wonderful the poor dear has found a friend."

"You would."

"What about you, Headmaster?" Aurora Sinistra, the new Astronomy Professor, asked. 

Albus startled slightly. The deep frown he sported turned into a small smile that didn't reach his worried eyes. 

"It's a relief," he said, "though I do wish she had connected with a different child."

"Because he's Slytherin," Severus said immediately. His scowl was vicious. 

Albus shook his head. "No, my boy. I merely worry that Mr Zabini has been influenced by his mother's...proclivities." 

"I'm sorry?" Aurora asked, her eyebrows scrunching together.

"Countess Zabini, since the death of her long time husband, has taken a new spouse for every year. Each has died under questionable circumstance, and each has left her with an ever increasing fortune. Nothing has ever been proven."

"...Oh."

"I wouldn't worry about it," Filius said. "After all, Miss Potter is hardly the type to be taken in easily."

They all shared a chuckle, remembering a girl who declined in front of the whole school to sit on the Sorting stool, who loftily refused to speak to a single human being (though apparently cats and house elves and Zabinis were fair game), and who marched though the corridors unaffected by the increasingly vicious rumors.

Only Albus remained pensive. 

...

Ettie entered the Great Hall for breakfast, relishing in the lack of whispers and pointing. She wanted to enjoy it while it lasted, because the Girl-Who-Lived sitting with a Slytherin--especially this Slytherin--would reignite the rumors in full force. She had no doubt that by the end of the week Ettie would be a Dark Witch and the reason Voldemort attacked was to remove a rival. 

At the Slytherin table Zabini was in his usual spot at the end, separate from the rest of his classmates. Ettie strode over. It took a moment for anyone to notice, but once they did the news spread like wildfire. By the time Ettie got from the door to the table, it felt like the entire room was staring. It wasn't even ego; it was probably true. 

Zabini stood to greet her with a massive smirk. 

"Shall we really give them something to talk about?" he whispered and opened his arms for a hug.

"Let's." Ettie shoved him backwards onto the bench and crossed around to sit with her back to the wall.

Zabini laughed--cackled really. 

"Ah, this is going to be fun," he said. His Italian accent was thicker than it was yesterday.  
  
"For you maybe."

"Yes, exactly." He beamed. 

"Potter, you can talk?" The voice that interrupted their not-entirely-unpleasant banter belonged to none other than Draco Malfoy. A Main Character. 

Ettie ignored him completely and when Zabini turned his head she kicked him hard in the shin. Zabini looked back to Ettie with what was apparently his signature smirk but followed her lead.

"So, friend. How are you liking Hogwarts to far?"

Ettie hummed thoughtfully, snagging the grapes that Zabini reached for.

"It's decent. Food is good but the occupants leave much to be desired."

"Present company excluded, right?"

"Of course," Ettie lied, making her eyes wide and innocent. Zabini snorted. The sound was absurdly delicate. 

"Are you ignoring me?!" Baby Malfoy exclaimed.

"Other than the food, what do you like most about our world?"

Ettie thought about that for a while. She was surrounded by the children of powerful people. Powerful people who, if the original world was to be believed, didn't like normal people. The truth might once again be her best bet.

"It got me away from the muggles," she said. There were many nods and looks of approval before the nearby First Years remembered they weren't supposed to be listening. 

Except Malfoy. 

"So there is some sense in you after all," he said, looking absolutely ridiculous as he stroked his chin.

"Were they awful?" Zabini asked.

_The cupboard was dark and her back was achy and wet with blood. Ettie buried her face in her stolen pillow and screamed--_

"Yes," she croaked. And that was enough vulnerabilty for this week, so Ettie nodded at Zabini, stole an apple off Malfoy's plate, and walked out of the room.

...

The Third Floor Corridor.

It deserved the capital letters. The entire First Year of the original world revolved around it, and now she was standing in front of it, frowning. Something was off.

Ettie inched forward and pressed her ear to the wood. Nothing. She stepped back and bit her lip. This was a stupid idea. She could get killed again. But Ettie had to know.

Ever so carefully, Ettie muttered the unlocking spell and tried the door. Nothing. She cast a different spell from the possibly illegal book from Knockturn Alley. The door opened. Wand held high and transfigured flute pressed to her lips, Ettie stepped inside. 

And saw nothing. 

Nothing except abandoned desks and a lack of dust typical for any place inhabited by house elves.

"Oh," Ettie said faintly. 

Either...either Dumbledore had come up with a better plan than 'hide the powerful magic artifact in a school full of curious and highly breakable school kid, even though a Dark Lord is after it' or. Or Voldemort already had it--!

Gringotts! The stupid stone was originally in Gringotts! How could she have forgotten?! And--no, oh no. When that well-meaning idiot Hagrid took her to Diagon Alley, they went to Gringotts and--

_"An' this is Gringotts, finest bank in the whole world!"_

_Ettie eyed the goblins standing guard outside the bank. Each carried between three to five visible weapons and she was willing to bet that they had even more hidden ones. As they entered she saw even more guards lining the walls and windows and standing on balconies. Even the bank tellers had axes or swords._

_Ettie immediately decided to spend as little time in the bank as possible._

_"Er, hello," Hagrid greeted a teller. "Miss Potter would like to access her vault."_

_"Does Miss Potter have her key?" Hagrid produced it and Ettie resisted the urge to snatch it from his hand to give it to the goblin herself. Hagrid could break her like a twig._

_Why would this random man have her bank key?_

_The teller examined the key closely and finally called over another goblin._

_"Griphook! Take Miss Potter to her vault," he ordered. The new goblin bowed with a sneer and began stomping away. It was a novel sensation to be walking with someone who was actually shorter than her._

_A short walk, a roller coaster ride and a sick Hagrid later, Griphook was opening a massive door deep within the bank. Ettie was prepared for piles of gold, of course, but what she saw cracked even her composure. She had never seen so much wealth in one place._

_Griphook handed her a pouch that seemed to small to be of any use. Ettie forcibly schooled her face and stepped forward. She shoveled massive handfuls of every type of coin into the bag, knowing it would be much larger on the inside. She didn't stop until the bag rejected anymore money even though it looked and felt empty._

_"What's the limit?" Ettie asked. Hagrid's eyes widened--clearly he thought she couldn't talk._

_"One hundred of each," Griphook said._

_"If I'm frugal, how long will that last?"_

_"You expect me to know, witch?"_

_Ettie sneered deliberately. "Seeing as you work in a bank, goblin, yes."_

_"...Mm. You will spend most of your time at Hogwarts and have no rent--"_

_"Say I did have rent," Ettie interrupted. She had no intention of returning to the Dursleys. Not that they'd let her._

_"Then perhaps two to three years."_

_Ettie nodded sharply. Hagrid opened his mouth to say something but a sudden alarm began to wail. Griphook gasped and then snarled._

_"Something has been stolen!"_

Ettie slowly slid down the wall. Voldemort had the Philosopher's Stone. Voldemort wanted her dead for surviving the impossible and 'defeating' him. Voldemort was coming back. Three years early.

"I am so screwed."

...

Ettie had a new mission. Forget finding the Room of Requirement. Forget amassing a loyal house elf army. Forget living the life of a dedicated hermit! Ettie needed to learn everything there was to know about Defence.

Now. There were two logical experts on such things in the castle. First was Quirrel, and second was Snape.

...Ugh. Well, when in doubt, make a list. 

Pros:

Quirrel--certified DADA professor

Snape--prodigy at DADA (and the Dark Arts)

Quirrel--she could probably take him if she caught him off guard 

Snape--no way would he be defeated by an eleven year old girl

Snape--former Bffs with her mothe-er, Lily Potter (according to the internet. Apparently it was in the seventh book that she didn't read)

Cons:

Quirrel--definitely loyal to Voldemort

Snape--probably loyal to Voldemort

Quirrel--his stutter made her want to hit something 

Snape--bitter and ugly and mean and smelled like dead things and swamp gas

Ettie scowled at the parchment. Snape, to be honest, was the superior choice, even if she was far more vulnerable around him. 

She really hated the smell of swamp gas.

...

Ettie had a plan. It wasn't one of her better plans; in fact, it probably wasn't even a good plan. But it was the best she had and Ettie was determined to pull it off. 

("Hey, Zabini. Who are the most violent, reckless Harriet-Potter-haters in Slytherin?")

...

Snape's office was just around the corner. Zabini had helped her slip mild compulsion draughts into the goblets of Cassius Warrington and Cassiopeia Selwyn. Ettie could hear them coming this way. 

She straightened her spine, smoothed down her hair (she'd straightened it for the occasion so it would look more like Lily's) and stalked down the corridor, nose stuffed in a book. 

Ettie 'accidentally' slammed straight into Warrington, then stumbled back and stepped hard on Selwyn's foot with the pointy heel of her boot.

"Watch where you're going, brat!" 

"That hurt, you little Mudblood!"

Ettie looked up from her book with a carefully crafted sneer. They drew back in shock when they saw her face. 

"So sorry," Ettie droned. "My apologies."

"You talk?!"

"Not to people," Ettie said. "Only creatures and animals."

"You're calling US creatures?" Warrington snarled. Selwyn went silently for her wand. 

"No, of course not," she said sweetly. "I'm calling you animals. Big, ugly and stupid ones."

That was the breaking point. Selwyn's curse slammed right into her chest. Ettie let herself scream. It burned like a thousand bee stings! She clawed at her skin as the teenagers laughed. 

Then they turned and walked away. That was so not part of the plan. Ettie struggled to pull out her wand and hex Selwyn's hair into worms, but she succeeded. Selwyn shrieked while Warrington hit her with something that made Ettie's vision go black and her face hurt like she'd been beaten. It was a familiar sensation. 

"What is going on here?" Snape's distinctive baritone hissed. 

"Sir! We--we were just--"

"Attacking First Years with spells meant for dragon handlers and Aurors? Yes, I can see that. Detention. Now get out of my sight."

Ettie sobbed on the floor as two pairs of footsteps ran away. The smell of swamp gas approached.

"Child," Snape said, not gently but not cruelly either, "can you hear me?"

Ettie tried to respond but all that came out was a disgustingly weak whimper. Snape sighed and then Ettie was floating on what felt like a stretcher.

"I am taking you to my office," Snape informed her. "The Hospital Wing is full of victims of a Weasley prank."

She knew it was. Ettie had bribed them to make it so with five Galleons and a letter signed 'Child of Prongs'. They did not disappoint. 

Snape, to his extreme credit, had her face healed within ten minutes. Man really knew his countercurses. Not to his credit, he tried to kick her out as soon as her face was recognizable.

"Potter," he spat. "Get out!"

"But--my chest," she managed to whisper. Snape paused. She met his gaze directly, eyes big and watery and so very green, and hoped any fondness for his old friend would soften his heart. 

It did. Slightly.

"Very well," he gritted out. "But as soon as you're healed you're out of here."

"Thank...you."

"Humph." 

As he started in on healing the bee sting curse, Ettie started talking. 

"Professor? I wanted to thank you. For not leaving me there."

"Why would I do that?" he snapped.  
  
"Because you hate me."

"It is frowned upon for a teacher to do any such thing."

"Doesn't...doesn't mean you don't."

"And if I said I did hate you?"

"I'd ask what a full grown professor could have against a little girl," Ettie said candidly. Snape made a sound that could have been either amusement or disdain. 

"Then rest assured, I do not hate you."

"Truth?" Ettie checked. Snape stilled.

"...Truth," he muttered. Ettie swallowed her grin with ease. The 'truth game' was the only way to stop Dudley from lying, a staple from Petunia's childhood. A childhood that included Lily and her friend, a young Snape.

Operation 'Remind Snape of His Old BFF' was a success so far.

"Okay," Ettie chirped. "Then will you teach me Defense?" 

"No." Zero hesitation there.

"But what if someone attacks me again?"

"They won't," Snape lied, smirking.

Ettie narrowed her eyes at him as she sat up. "Wow Proessor, and I thought you were intelligent."

He sneered. "Potters have been known to be wrong before. In fact, they rather make a habit of it." 

Ettie sneered right back. "And what about Evanses?" 

His nostrils flared, sallow face going ruddy with rage. Ettie flinched backwards, hands darting up to shield her head. But no blow came.

Slowly, Ettie lowered her hands. 

She stood from the conjured medical bed and nodded so low it was almost a bow, just so she didn't have to look at his face. She had to force the words out of herself.

"Sorry for bothering you. Thank you for your time."

Ettie swayed as she walked but there was no way she was sticking around to see Snape's pity and disgust. She would have to try that idiot Quirrel after all. Hopefully Snape wouldn't blab--

"Potter, wait."

Potter did not wait, thank you very much, but then the door slammed shut an inch from her nose. Ettie spun around and stopped dead. It wasn't pity she saw on his face. It was understanding.

"I will train you," he whispered. "It will not be easy; you will beg for mercy that will not be forthcoming. But by the end you will emerge stronger, harder, better. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Ettie said.

"Yes sir," Snape growled.

And, before she couldn't stop it: "There's no need to call me sir, professor."

But instead of rescinding his offer, Snape pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

"I regret this already."

...

"Wait. Potter stop. What do you mean you convinced Snape to train you!"

"Exactly that, Zabini."

"But--! But he hates you!"

"So?"

"So how did you convince him!"

"It wasn't that hard. I got myself attacked, he rescued me, I asked, he said no, I sassed him, he sassed back, and then he said yes."

"What."

"Mm."

"Potter, you...you are mildly terrifying."

"Only mildly? I'm hurt."

"Well, you are eleven years old. Keep working at it, though with how short you are it'll be a miracle if you ever get past moderately terrifying--ow!"

...

Severus Snape was in a Mood. Who did that Potter brat think she was? Asking HIM of all people for tutoring! 

Severus set up the cauldron and lit the fire. He began chopping bloodroot with more force than necessary. 

Harriet Potter. She was unbelievable arrogant, criminally selfish, and had more pride than her accursed father, if that was at all possible.

He crushed dried dirgible plums together with fresh mandrake leafs.

She was rude too, not that Severus should be throwing stones. But that comment about Evanses! She had to be mocking him. He had no idea who told her about his history with Lily but when he found them--

Severus beheaded a runespoor and began harvesting its brains.

Why, the little brat even had the gall to try and manipulate him with her looks! Doing her hair just the way Lily did, ridding herself of those awful Potter glasses, even her sharp tongue! 

He peeled a shrivelfig and began mashing it with gusto.

Severus would admit she probably came by the sharp tongue naturally. The way she flinched too, just like Lily did when he--when he called her a--

Off came the legs of a fire beetle, powdered one by one with unnecessary care.

She flinched. Harriet Potter flinched away from angry adult men. He noticed it in Potions but assumed it was typical childish weakness. This was not that. 

He stirred counterclockwise for seven turns and then clockwise for another seven.

The most likely reality--Slazar, why hadn't he realized?--was that Harriet Potter had been abused. Lily's little girl, named after her father who welcomed Severus into his home--

Severus shredded the fire lily petals, his hands shaking, and sprinkled them into the brew. 

_Oh Lily. What have we done?_

...

"Again."

Ettie rolled to her feet, panting. Her limbs shook and her head throbed and everything hurt. 

"Are you deaf?" Snape barked. A stinging hex hit her upper arm. "I said again!"

Ettie threw herself forward, shooting off the nastiest curses she'd learned from half a dozen illegal books and nothing even touched him. Snape blocked, ducked under, or lazily dodged every one while returning with more stinging hexes. 

Not one of hers hit him, and all of his hit her.

"You're still too stationary. The first rule of dueling is to never stand still."

"I can't aim when I'm moving."

"Then you know what your homework is. Again."

This time Ettie zig zagged and ran, throwing sloppy hexes Snape barely had to block. She still got hit by every one of his, ending flat on her back. Ettie snarled. She prized herself on her agility once, and just look at her now.

"Again."

Ettie used an overturned desk as a shield and fired spells over the edge like a sniper. Snape disintegrated it and caught her with a body bind.

"Again." 

She summoned a chair directly behind him, hoping for a stumble, but he blasted it away and stuck her to the wall.

"Again." 

Ettie didn't bother with casting spells and focused on dodging them instead. She lasted maybe thirty seconds longer than usual before Snape turned the stones beneath her feet to ice.

"Again."

Ettie charged with every scrap of speed Dudley's chases had pounded into her. At the last second she rolled under a spell, grabbed a fallen chair and bashed Snape across the knees. Or tried to. He kicked it away with startling strength and sent her skidding across the room.

"Again."

_This is impossible_ , Ettie wanted to scream. Instead she immediately dodged left, blasted a chair into matchsticks and transfigured them to needles at the same time, and sent the lot flying at Snape. He threw up a shield against the majority but as Ettie watched, a thin line of blood appeared on his face.

Snape paused, touching a hand to his bleeding cheek. He smiled, baring yellowed teeth.

"Again."

...

Ettie slumped tremblingly over the Slytherin table the next day. Zabini handed her his grapes of his own free will. 

"Potter? What in Morgana's name happened to you?" Malfoy exclaimed loudly. 

Ettie hexed him.

Zabini laughed.

...

Weeks passed, then months. Ettie kipped more classes than she attended some days in an effort to maintain the level of alone time she had before Christmas. After all, she spent all her meals with Zabini and then even some of her breaks, and Snape tortured her every evening until curfew.

Merlin knew when that man got the time to grade papers, let alone sleep.

Still, it wasn't...entirely intolerable. The Gryffindor Stalkers were losing interest, even if they were still absurdly smiley. She slowly began dodging more curses in Snape's training, even if she almost never hit him. Quirrel, who she kept a constant eye on, was as harmless and annoying as ever.

Until he wasn't. 

...

It started like this:

"Miss P-Potter St-stay behind, please."

Seeing as she heard the same thing three times in a row this week, Ettie didn't see anything strange about this request. It was the end of the school year, Ettie had already finished all her coursework due to sheer boredom (even exploring a magic castle got old if you did it for long enough) and the only class she attended was Potions.

This was the 'I'm worried/disppointed/conerned/dissatisfied with/about your performance and it's almost exam time, blah blah blah' talk, she was sure. 

The next thing Ettie knew she was waking up in a dim, dusty room, tied back-to-back to an unconscious (pleasedontbedead) body with Quirrel leaning over her, contemplating murder. 

"Should I kill you, Miss Potter? The Dark Lord wants you alive, true, but not to keep you that way. If I did it now it would undoubtedly be kinder than what he has in store for for you. It would be a mercy..."

Ettie opened her mouth to scream for help and he gagged her with a casual flick of his wand. She struggled and kicked, managing only to wake the other captive.

"Ah, Mr Longbottom. Glad you could join us. You, I'm afraid, don't have the option of a clean death like Miss Potter here. The Dark Lord wants you alive, in no uncertain terms."

Longbottom made a series of squeaky whimpering sounds and Quirrel gagged him too.

"Mm, yes. Well my boy, you had better be on your way. The Dark Lord doesn't like delays, you see." Quirrel took something from his robes, stuck it to Longbottom's forehead, and said something in Latin. The boy vanished.

Quirrel turned back to Ettie, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"Yes, dear Harriett. I do think I'll be killing you. First, you escape." The ropes fell from her waist and hands. Ettie lunged to flee and Quirrel obligingly opened a door for her.

She ran through it anyway, desperate to get away. His arrogance would be his downfall. Following sedately behind her, Quirrel continued narrating.

"Then, you run and find the room housing your wand." Another door swung open. Ettie did indeed find her wand and immediately began attacking.

"You prove to be more talented than expected, and I have no choice but to fight you." Quirrel lazily blocked her spells, no matter what hexes or charms or transfiguations she used. He shot off a few token curses. Ettie dodged most of them and finally clipped Quirrel with a jelly-legs.

He staggered a second before performing the countercurse.

"You get in a lucky shot," he said with a nod of approval. "And I grow angry..."

Quirrel raised his wand.

"...and kill you..."

Green glowed at the tip.

"In an unfortunate display of temper."

"WAIT!" Ettie screamed.

Quirrel paused and nodded his head, as if calling on her in class. "Yes, Miss Potter?"

"Aren't you afraid he'll kill you for disobeying?" she asked quickly.

"Mm, not particularly. I was the instrument to his return, after all. The catalyst and the lynchpin. I am one of his most prized servants; he will not kill me for ridding him of an--urk!" 

As he spoke Ettie lunged, slamming her foot into his crotch. At the same time she ripped the wand from his hand and snapped it across her knee. She hexed him with a body bind and stood panting.

What should she _do?_

Ettie stepped forward and pressed her wand to Quirrel's neck.

"Tell me how to get out of here," she demanded, heart in her throat.

Quirrel blinked up at her. The stunned look faded quickly from his eyes. 

"Am I meant to understand you are threatening my life, Miss Potter? That just won't do. Fifty points from Ravenclaw and a detention!"

Instead of getting distracted by his chatter, Ettie steeled herself and swallowed back bile. She moved her wand to his right hand; Quirrel was a leftie.

"Diffindo!"

Three fingers fell to the ground. Quirrel howled. Ettie moved her wand (13 inches, fir and dragon heartstring, somewhat bendy--now bloodied, sullied, _tainted_ ) back to his neck.

"How do I get out of here?" she repeated, distantly horrified by the fact that neither her voice nor hand shook. Quirrel was the one who lost his composure. His eyes rolled wildly and he practically frothed at the mouth as he devolved into gasped curses of the normal and magic variety.

"You--are not half as intimidating as my Master," he gritted out. 

"So you'd rather die," Ettie said coldly. She wasn't thinking; she wouldn't actually have done it, she didn't think, but Quirrel believed she would. She pressed her wand down harder and opened her mouth and--

"A Portkey! Use the Portkey!"

"Explain," she hissed. 

"The both of you were brought here by an illegal Portkey--it goes both ways--it's--" another litany of curses, "it's the quill!"

"You're lying." Ettie didn't know how she knew, but she did. "What is the real Portkey? Tell the truth!"

Quirrel did his level best to spit at her. Ettie reared back and broke his nose in one solid blow, and just sort of...kept going. Hitting again and again, heartbeat fluttering in her ears.

"Da scroll!" Quirrel screeched as she placed her hand on his broken nose and leaned her body weight onto it. 

Truth.

Ettie jumped for the scroll on the desk of the now blood-splattered study. A hand wrapped around her ankle just as she touched the parchment.

...

Severus Snape did not like Quirinus Quirrel. This was so fixed in Minerva's mind that when the man's Patronus swept into her office declaring that Quirrel let a troll loose in order to kidnap Harriet Potter, she almost dismissed it out of hand.

Then she remembered it was Severus and she leapt from her desk.

"Where is the beast?" Minerva snapped. 

"Inner West Courtyard!" Her blood chilled. Dozens of students would be in that area at any given time. Somehow she ran even faster.

The troll had a seventh year upside down by the legs when she arrived. Severus was crouched protectively over a handful of bloodied children, his wand flying over their wounds. Minerva spotted an unconscious First Year with a crushed arm and wanted to vomit.

But there was no time for that.

Minerva slashed her wand through the air, summoning water from the fountain. She sent it straight for the troll's face. The beast dropped the seventh year, one Mr McClain, to claw at its mouth and nose. 

That was one disaster addressed.

"UPPER YEARS, EVACUATE YOUR CLASSMATES TO THE HOSPITAL WING AT ONCE!" Minerva roared, her voice magnified tenfold. The troll flailed and she only had a split second to remember that they were highly sensitive to sound. Then she was flying through the courtyard, struck by a massive hand. 

Her control of the water failed. The troll, terrified and enraged, snatched up its club and thundered after the group of fleeing students. 

"No!" she croaked.

"Hey! Over--over here, you big ugly lump!" A shower of needles sprayed the troll's face. Hermione Granger, tiny and fierce and trembling, turned and ran. Minerva tried to stand and failed.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" another young voice yelled. Ronald Weasley. With astonishing power, the troll's club was wrenched from its fist. It soared high up, hovered a moment, and rocketed down straight onto the troll's heard. The troll took one step, another, swayed and collapsed.

More teachers burst onto the scene almost as one, panting and singed as if they'd just had a rigorous fight. 

Pomona scurried over.

"Minerva! Oh, what happened?"

"Troll," she grunted. Obviously. "What happened to you?"

Pomona teared up. "Someone Imperiused the entire Gryffindor Quidditch Team to attack the rest of us. We were trying to knock them out without any lasting damage, but they started taking younger years hostage. They--Neville Longbottom is missing."

"So is Harriet Potter," Severus interjected, sliding in to check on her.

Minerva clenched her eyes shut.

"Oh," Pomona whispered. "Oh no." 

A scream echoed from the castle. Severus sprang to his feet.

"Take care of Minerva," he snapped over his shoulder. Then he was gone.

...

Ettie had screwed up many a time in her two young lives. Somehow this felt like the worst of them yet. 

Quirrel, wandless and lacking fingers and with a mangled face, was still a grown man. And grown men always overpowered little girls. She knew from experience. 

So Ettie, pinned to the floor as Quirrel reared back his good hand to strike, did something that never helped. She screamed, long and loud. Then her teacher's fist hit her face and her nose broke instantly.

And again. 

Again.

Again.

And then Ettie remembered her wand. Too bad she couldn't see or think or-or move. Father was angry. Father had never been this angry before. Usually he avoided the face and--crud, she wouldn't be able to go to school and-and who would look out for Maisie? 

Maisie. Her little sister. 

Sister. She had to protect Maisie! Ettie couldn't let him hurt her! Father paused, catching his breath. Ettie spit out a tooth. 

Wand. Ettie slowly raised her arm. There was a desk in sight of her one good eye. She aimed, and it exploded into splinters though she couldn't say the words. A twist and they were needles.

"You're going to die slow, Potter," Father hissed. Ettie twitched 13 inches of fir and dragon heartstring, somewhat bendy. The needles rose behind Father, silent and deadly.

_Go for his head_ , Ettie thought. And they did. Father slumped forward over Ettie. She could see the needles sticking out of his forehead, cheeks and neck. Thick blood, candy apple red, poured from the puncture wounds. It dribbled onto her skin, so hot it burned.

Slowly, Father's dark eyes turned blue and his thick black hair bled into brown. Ettie stared by into the gore-covered, death-slack face of her professor.

The door slammed open behind her. Ettie couldn't look away from Quirrel's squashed nose and swollen lips and twin black eyes. They were being painted over with red now. Just like her.

Ettie was a murderer.

"Miss Potter," a deep voice said, and Quirrel's body was wrenched away from her. Ettie struggled to meet pained, furious black eyes. So much like Father's...except Father never looked at her like that. Like maybe he cared.

"You will be fine," Snape declared, as if saying it would make it so.

Ettie couldn't possibly have responded and Snape seemed to understand. He was already drawing his wand through the air in slow, intricate patterns. The pain in her face lessened.

The door flew open again. Flickwick rushed into view.

"Miss Potter! Oh--Severus! What happened?"

Ettie met Snape's eyes again. 

Don't tell him, she thought, willing Snape to hear her. Please, Professor, don't let them know!

_I won't_ , his expression seemed to say. Ettie closed her eyes. Everything was suddenly very far away.

"I arrived while Quirrel was in the midst of attacking Miss Potter. Then I quite simply lost my temper."

"You...lost your temper, killing a man with a First Year spell?"

"It had a certain poetry." Ettie, barely clinging to awareness, thought she could detect dark satisfaction in his voice.

"...Very well, Severus. Let's get her to the Hospital Wing."

The world faded and swirled to black.  
  
...

Neville was going to die. He didn't know how, or even why, but from the second Quirrel said 'Dark Lord' Neville knew he was dead. And he wasn't sure if he could go down casting like his parents.

The Portkey deposited him in a heap on cold flooring. Neville shivered there, too frightened to move.

"Neville Longbottom," a voice said. Chills slithered down his spine and suddenly he could move after all. Anything to get away from that voice. Unfortunately, Neville was still tied up, so that failed like everything else he did.

"Poor child," the man continued in the same time one would use to say 'disgusting insect'. "Not much, are you?"

And then someone was levitating Neville to his feet. Neville shrieked and the man chuckled. Slowly, shaking so bad he could barely stand, Neville turned around. 

Neville didn't shriek his time, but that was only because he was frightened stiff. He stared into crimson eyes, eyes like blood and fire and death.

"No," the man--You-Know-Who!--sighed, the place where eyebrows should have been furrowing, "not much at all."

He waved a hand nd the ropes fell to the floor. Neville prepared for immediate death but You-Know-Who only stood there, waiting. Eventually Neville managed to find his voice.

"Wha-what do you...what do you w-want from me?"

"Something extraordinary," he said flippantly. 

"W-w-well, well you've g-got the wrong wizard."

"Perhaps. Are you going to beg?"

Neville's spine straightened involuntarily and he found himself glaring at You-Know-Who.  
  
"Never," he spat. "Y-you monster!"

You-Know-Who's thin lips curved upwards. "There we go; there's a spine in you after all. Take out your wand, boy. It'll be where you left it."

His shaky confidence vanished in a heartbeat. Neville slowly reached into his robes, pulling out his wand.

"Know any curses, Longbottom?"

Neville shook his head. His hand was shaking so badly he almost dropped his wand.

"Hm. I'll teach you one-"

"No," Neville blurted. Then cringed as he waited for death.

"Oh?" You-Know-Who seemed amused. 

"I won't learn any Dark Magic," Neville said and didn't stutter. You-Know-Who smirked.

"Have it your way then." And then he raised his wand. Neville raised his too, as if in a dream. He bowed as You-Know-Who did the same. 

"Ulcere sanguis," he said lazily. Neville squeaked the first spell that came to mind. 

"Scourgify!" It was a cleaning spell. Useless! Time slowed and Neville could see his death as it approached. The two spells slammed into each other and Neville did not die. Instead, strings of light blossomed between the spells and wands. 

Somehow, Neville knew he couldn't let go of his wand or something terrible would happen. But it was hard when it was vibrating in his hand. He met scarlet eyes through the glow and was shocked to find You-Know-Who laughing. 

"Something extraordinary indeed! It seems I went after the wrong one after all."

Neville clung to his wand with both hands, staring at the tiny beads of light on the string rather than look at the laughing maniac on the other end. This turned out to be a poor choice. The sight of the beads filled him with dread; he couldn't let them touch his wand!

Unfortunately, it didn't look like he had much choice in the matter. No matter how he strained, they only came closer. Neville risked a panicked glance up at You-Know-Who. He had stopped laughing and looked nothing but curious. Like Neville was a potion he was adding random ingredients to, waiting to see what would happen.

What happened was that as soon as the beads touched his wand, Neville screamed. Pain exploded up his hand and arm and the last thing he saw was You-Know-Who's surprised delight, as if an eleven year old's death was all he wanted for Christmas.  
...

Fascinating. 

Voldemort crouched down to examine the boy's arm. It was raw and red, but most importantly, covered in shimmering golden lines the same color as the strings and beads of light. Voldemort rotated the arm to view the lines from every angle. Once he was sure he had them memorized, he checked for a pulse.

Nothing.

Well that was anticlimactic. 

Voldemort let the body where it lay, still clutching a wand for dear life. Time to see what was taking Quirrel so long delivering the Potter girl. He activated his Portkey and left the tiny French cottage that was once an active safe house. He reappeared to a scene of carnage in Riddle House.

Voldemort's eyebrow shot up when he found the fingers. They were far too large to belong to an eleven year old witch.

"Harriet Potter did this," he mused as he found his servant's broken wand. "How irritating."

But as aggravating as the girl's escape was, Voldemort wasn't worried about her running her mouth about his return, if she knew at all. Harriet Potter was selfish, ruthless and pragmatic. She would know she wouldn't be believed. And Quirrel, if he wasn't already dead, couldn't blab if he tried, bound by oath as he was.

Still, when he killed the girl he would be sure to make it especially painful. 

...

Ettie stared at the ceiling, counting tiles. Odd that a castle built a thousand years ago would have tiles on the ceiling, but she supposed it was just part of the aesthetic.

"Miss Potter, you must eat."

Ettie finished counting and began making shapes and patterns with the tiles instead. Simple geometric figures had never been so interesting.

"Miss Potter, I will not ask you again."

Ettie was bored of the tiles. She gazed out the window instead, watching tiny shapes soar out over the forest. The Gryffindor team was really not doing well and seemed to cope by spending excessive amounts of time flying. 

"Fine then."

Ettie's mouth opened without her permission. Pomfrey calmly shoveled small bites of porridge into her mouth, where Ettie was forced to chew and swallow. 

Pomfrey cancelled the spell and Ettie hurled the glass on her bedside at the witch. She swore too, for good measure. Unfortunately the nurse ducked, though the cup shattered in a most satisfying way. A second later it was reformed and set by her bed again. Pomfrey walked away to check on the troll victims.

Ettie threw the glass again, and repaired it herself. She summoned it and shattered it. Throw. Repair. Summon. Throw. Repair. Summon. 

Throw.

Three fingers thumped softly to the ground. Quirrel screamed and was stuck fast, held still when he sound have been fighting.

Repair.

Quirrel's nose crunched beneath her fists, bruising her knuckles. She felt her index finger break against his cheekbone but kept on hitting.

Summon.

A whisper of air and the needles rose, glinting in the candle light. They made squelching sounds as they shot clean through his skull.

Throw--

A hand caught the glass. Ettie looked up. 

"Miss Potter," Snape said.

"...Did they believe you?" she asked. He nodded once. Ettie was relieved, of course she was. She didn't want her Professors knowing she was a murderer. But this lie was one more strike against her. If karma was real, her next life would be hell. 

(Unless there was no next life. Unless Ettie found sustainable immortality in a world full of magic.)

Ettie turned her back on Snape. 

"Thanks, Professor."

He left.

...

"I get sick for one week and what happens?!"

"Quirrel was nuts, which, big surprise. But anyway, he kidnapped Potter and a Gryfindor Firstie, Neville Longbottom and did all sorts of mad stuff to distract the staff."

"Yeah, he let a troll loose in the study courtyard! Monica got hit by the club and almost died."

"Seriously? Merlin's pants!"

"Right? And he enchanted the Lions' Quidditch Team to start attacking everyone they saw--"

"Alicia Spinnet cursed the eyeballs out of a Firstie and decided to go to home tutoring."

"Yeah, it was bad. And then all the statues in the North Tower came alive and they were not friendly. I got shot with an arrow! A ruddy arrow, right in my arm."

"Merlin, really?!"

"Oh, don't let her fool you. It was from one of those wimpy little cupids."

"Okay, caught me. But it really did hurt like the Dickens."

"Then what happened?"

"...The really scary part, mate. See, all that was just a distraction. Quirrel needed the teachers occupied so he could nab the Girl-Who-Lived. He took Neville Longbottom too, though nobody really knows why."

"Merlin. That's awful. What happened?"

"Well, nobody knows for sure. But a portrait in the Defense room saw Quirrel Portkey the kids out and then Portkey back in with just Potter. He was beating on her something fierce, and the portrait left to get help. When it came back, Snape was there and Quirrel was dead."

"Woah. That's just--I can hardly believe it. Snape killed Quirrel?"

"Or so they say, anyway."

"Oh, come off it!"

"What?"

"Don't listen to her. You see, since Quirrel was killed by a Firstie spell, she thinks Potter did it."

"Seriously? That's a bit far-fetched mate."

"Is not! The chair or desk or whatever was exploded into matchsticks, Transfigured into needles, and then levitated through Quirrel's face!"

"I fail to see how that proves anything."

"Cuz it doesn't make sense for Snape to do that when he could just stun the man! But it's exactly the kind of thing a barely trained witch could manage in a moment of desperation!"

"Well...I guess so. Poor kid."

"Yeah."

"...Yeah."

...

Neville was missing and Ron hadn't cried. Quirrel was dead and Ron didn't care. Dozens were injured and Ron wasn't hurting. Hermione was sobbing and Ron couldn't hear a thing.

Something was wrong with him. Half of the other First Years were crying. Another third were in the hospital. And the remainder was like him. Sitting there, numb and staring.

Something warm was pushed into his hand. Ron looked up. It was Percy. He nodded encouragingly so Ron lifted the tiny cup and swallowed the potion in one gulp. 

The numbness slowly drained away and Ron began to cry.

...

Ettie didn't cry. No matter how many shock-curing potions Pomfrey gave her. No matter how many times she woke up at night seeing Quirrel's face. No matter how many times they sat her down to talk about it.

Ettie didn't cry. She wouldn't. And she should have known that would have consequences. 

Consequences in the form of Albus Dumbledore showing up at her bedside sporting a saddened frown. Ettie stared blankly at his nose.

Dumbledore sighed. "Miss Potter, it has come to my attention that you are not responding favorably to treatment. You have gone through a grave ordeal, and so it has been decided that you will spend this summer in a place designed to help children like yourself."

Ettie remembered Flickwick's talk. Ettie didn't particularly care. Almost anything was better than the Dursleys.

Dumbledore stayed a while longer, chattering lightly in a way that might have comforted anyone else. Ettie was reminded of her Before brother with his easy charm and sharp teeth. She didn't release her grip on her hidden wand until Dumbledore was long gone. 

...

When the last day of school arrived a palpable wave of relief came with it. Ettie still hadn't been released from the hospital wing. Neither had a couple of others: Eloise Midgen and Vincent Crabbe, who were also messed up enough to go to the head shrink summer home. 

"Are you all ready?" Dumbledore asked as they gathered around a Portkey. Midgen glanced up and bobbed her head in what might have passed for a nod. Ettie just glared, arms folded over her chest, clutching the wand up her sleeve. Crabbe sort of sneered but with more depression.

"I shall take that as a yes. Now, children, I bid you farewell. And...good luck." 

Well, that was ominous.


	2. blood on a marble wall

_Ettie stared blankly at the potions in her section of the bathroom. Cheering draught, calming draught, compliance draught. Because she needed to be happier, less aggressive, more obedient._

_She glanced around the bathroom, full of girls knocking back potions like shots or pouring them down sinks. Morons. They would just be force fed the stuff that way. Ettie reached for the first potion and drank._

_Her mood lifted. Sure, she was in the loony bin, but at least it wasn't the Dursleys! Humming a tune to a half remembered song, Ettie swallowed down the next potion._

_Her rabbiting heartbeat settled as the manic edge to her plastic joy was dulled. Her head fuzzed, like it was surrounded by clouds of soft cotton, muffling her pesky emotions. Ettie hesitated before she took her last potion._

_Compliance, obedience, conformity. It wasn't..._ so _bad. The Caretaker wouldn't yell at her. She would get the best meals. Everyone would be happier._

_Everyone except her._

_Ettie turned to the kid next to her, whose ringlets trembled though her expression was vacant. If...if compliance made everyone happy but her, then she should spread the joy, right?_

_(This girl didn't need compliance medicine, so it wouldn't overdose her. The spells on the potion bottles only registered that the potion had been consumed, not who drank it. Ettie could get away with it. She would._

_She did.)_

...

Voldemort eyed the diary placed on the table before him with detached interest. There was a boy in there, young and desperate and painfully idealistic. Everything Voldemort had long ago rid himself up by putting it all in this very book.

The boy within was an idiot, yet he was Voldemort himself and therefore head and shoulders above the other idiots of the world. He could trust, or indeed allow, this task to none but himself.

He opened the diary.

'Hello again, Tom. I have a job for you.'

...

Ettie was fully prepared to return from the head shrink summer camp more notorious than ever. She was not disappointed. Unfortunately. No way was she going back there again. Terrible food, worse roommates, and a litany of potions that made her giddy or fuzzy or flat out wasted. Not to mention the constant talk of _feelings_ and normal, healthy behavior. 

And all she had to show for it was weight loss she couldn't afford, a few delinquent enemies, and--

"Hello Harriet Potter! Your wrackspurts are especially antisocial today."

\--that. 

"I wonder why," she muttered to herself, hauling her trunk right past the spacy, bouncy blonde Main Character. 

Lovegood took her completely rhetorical comment as an open invitation. 

"Probably because you yourself might have a borderline antisocial personality disorder and have suddenly found yourself thrust into the hormonal hordes of hectic teenagers?" Lovegood offered seriously.

"No," Ettie said, meeting her eyes and ignoring all the double takes she got for speaking in public. "It's because there's a blonde midget following me around asking stupid questions."

"I'm at least two centimeters taller than you. It's not nice to call yourself a midget."

"Get lost."

"How am I meant to do that?" Lovegood chirped as if genuinely curious. "The platform only has one room."

"I'm sure you'll figure something out," Ettie said as she heaved her trunk onto the train, ignoring a nearby Hufflepuff's aborted attempt to help her. Then she shamelessly ran away before Lovegood could catch up.

Looked like she'd be riding in the baggage car again. 

...

Ettie did end up in the baggage car, snoozing peacefully for the first time in weeks. The head shrink summer camp took her wand away and Ettie was suddenly unable to sleep without it.

In fact, Ettie slept so peacefully that she didn't wake up until the house elves popped in to collect the luggage.

"Missy Potter?" A voice squeaked right next to her ear. Ettie shot upright with a curse on her lips.

"Merlin's saggy--Tippy?"

Tippy giggled as if she hadn't almost gotten cursed. "Missy Potter is remembering Tippy!"

"Of course I remember you," Ettie scoffed. "How could I ever forget the best duster Hogwarts has ever seen?"

Tippy beamed and curtsied with her little tea towel toga. Ettie almost smiled. Her lip might have twitched a bit. She really did have a soft spot for elves.

"What is Missy Potter being in here for?" Tippy asked the logical question.

"I was avoiding the hormonal hordes of hectic teenagers," she said dryly. 

"Ah." Tippy nodded vigorously, ears flapping. "Tippy is understanding. Tippy can be taking Missy Potter directly to her room if that is being what she wants!"

" _Yes_. Thank you, Tippy."

"It is being no trouble!" Tippy held a hand out and Ettie took it. With a gentle pop, she was standing alone in her dorm. Ettie almost-smiled again and face planted on her bed, wand still clutched in her hand.

...

First day of school.

Ettie woke up in the wee hours of the morning, absolutely starving. Her last meal at the shrink's place had been denied due to bad behavior, she hadn't gotten anything on the train and then she skipped the Welcoming Feast.

So she dragged herself out of bed and stomped her way down the stairs, not caring if she woke anybody. Somewhere there was fruit and flapjacks with her name on them. 

Ettie paused halfway to the kitchens as she realized that even the house elves, hard working as they were, shouldn't be up at three in the morning. She wavered. Where to go?

Library? No; she'd be sick of learning soon enough.

Exploring? Nah. Even the castle was mostly stationary at this hour.

Back to bed? Tempting, but she doubted she could sleep.

In the end Ettie ended up outside the empty Great Hall. She ventured inside, because why not? It was eerie to see the long empty tables and unlit candles floating in the lightening sky. Ettie kinda liked it.

"Hello?" she called, and it echoed back to her. Ettie, struck by a foreign, reckless sense of fun, clambered on top of the nearest table-Gryffindor. She eyed the width and length and raised her arms.

Ettie took three running steps for momentum and fell into a cartwheel, then two, three, five, seven and she reached the end of the table. She smirked triumphantly. 

Still got it.

Ettie measured the distance between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables. She could totally make that. She only got two running steps this time and still landed neatly on the wooden tabletop.

"Your Champion, Ettie Potter!" she intoned dramatically, and proceeded to do a series of front flips down the 'Puff table, delighted by how easy it still was. Ettie hadn't practiced all summer! She paused a moment to catch her breath and set her eyes on the Ravenclaw table. 

"Do I dare?" she mused, stroking a pretend beard. Then she rolled her eyes at herself and her ridiculousness. 

"I'm such a nerd." But nevertheless she went ahead with her idea, flipping through the air and landing on her own table in an easy crouch. She did back hand springs--sloppily, too slow, she needed practice--down that one and flipped over to the Slytherin table for the finale: a round off into some handsprings, a no-hands cartwheel finished off by a backflip that she barely landed. 

"And that's how you do," Ettie said in satisfaction, brushing off her perfectly clean palms. She leaped half out of her skin when a single set of applause rang through the air.

"Bravo, Miss Potter!" Albus Freaking Dumbledore cried. "That was most impressive. You are very talented."

Ettie was frozen, wand pointing directly at the face of the most powerful (or was it second most powerful?) wizard in the country. Possibly world. 

Dumbledore raised his hands peacefully, as if he couldn't do plenty of damage without his wand. "I apologize. It was not my intention to startle you."

Slowly Ettie convinced her muscles to lower the wand. She stared at Dumbledore silently. He kept on smiling and eased himself up to sit on the edge of the table a few feet away from her.

Ettie backed away a few more steps and sat down with her legs crossed.

"I must say, it is refreshing to see you act your age, Miss Potter. You have always been so mature."

Ettie looked away from him, watching out of the corner of her eye. _Who's fault is that?_ she wanted to ask, but it wasn't really his. The Dursleys were responsible for their own actions. Still, he was the one who put her there. Not to mention he tried to give away her Cloak!

"Again, I apologize. I can see you are uncomfortable, and I am truly sorry. What befell you last year never should have happened. I will bear that weight for the rest of my days."

 _Good for you_ , Ettie thought _. I still almost died. I still killed someone._

She slid off the table, moving slow. When Dumbledore didn't respond she started backing towards the doors, still holding her wand. He watched her with sad eyes.

When Ettie ducked out of the room she didn't run. Some instinct told her to wait, silent and still and out of sight.

"Oh child," Dumbledore sighed. His voice was rough and on the edge of breaking. "I am so sorry. And the worst is yet to come...if only..."

Ettie held her breath, heart pounding, but he didn't say anything else. She ran on silent feet.

The worst was yet to come? 

...

'Ginny?'

'Yeah Tom?'

'Can you tell me more about Harriet Potter?'

'Sure!'

...

In the next few weeks, Ettie kept a constant eye out danger, ate all her meals in the kitchens, and made plans to break into the First Year Gryffindor girl's dorms to steal the diary of Voldemort and...do what with it, she didn't know, but she had no desire to deal with another near-death experience. Non-interference or not.

In any case, her plans were constantly foiled by Snape, who had dumped all his grading on his assistants to monopolize her evenings with survival practice. It wasn't even dueling. It was him doing his level best to capture her, her trying not to let him and failing miserably, and then him lecturing her on everything she'd done wrong and making her practice until her hands bled. The only free time she had was meals and DADA, because she refused to attend a single lesson with Lockhart. 

So. It wasn't until late October that Ettie saw Zabini again. It...did not go well.

Ettie got to him in the usual way: she waited until he was alone and then pulled him into a hidden alcove. 

"Zabini. You've been avoiding me." It was just a joke but the way he winced said it was truth as well.

"Spill," she said, voice noticeably colder, even to her own ears. 

"Potter..." Zabini shifted and scratched his ear. "We can't do...this anymore."

"You breaking up with me?" she sneered. She was getting some very odd heartburn.

"I'm sorry, really I am. But you spent the summer in the loony--in a Care Center. This was always a friendship of opportunity. I don't see what's in it for me anymore."

Ettie was silent. She thought of a dozen ways to respond, to hurt or convince or frighten. A large, slow smile cracked her face. Ettie couldn't help it. 

"You're going to regret that," she sang. And then walked away, leaving a very alarmed Blaise Zabini behind.

Three days later Mrs Norris was found strung up and petrified. Ettie met Blaise's eyes from across the corridor and made no expression whatsoever. He blanched visibly and she turned away, heading back to bed.

...

The next day, the Slytherins stopped knocking into her in the halls and trying to hex her from behind. It was clear what assumptions had been made.

Ettie did nothing to correct them. In fact, she fell back on old habits and refused to talk to anyone at all. The head shrink would blow a gasket, but then, she wasn't there. 

Within a week the Slytherins' sudden respectful behavior had bred even more assumptions. Harriet Potter, Hero of the Wizarding World and Girl-Who-Lived, was the number one suspect for the Heir of Slytherin.

...

Ettie stopped trying to sneak into Ginny Weasley's dorm for the time being. She didn't care if any of these little twerps got turned to stone.

...

_It had been three weeks. Ettie 'took her potions', she obeyed the Healers, she ate all her meals and made a point of occasionally crying herself to sleep at night. Normal, healthy behavior._

_A normal child bowed to authority. A healthy child took care of herself. A normal child would cry after a traumatic event. And, unfortunately, a healthy child had friends._

_There were no Zabinis here to form a mutually beneficial partnership. Everyone was either unstable like her Before family, weepy and pathetic like Before Ettie, or drugged up to their gills._

_All except Luna Lovegood._

_Not that she didn't act high, but there was a clarity to her dreamy gaze that nobody else seemed to notice. She didn't strike Ettie as the most sane person but she wasn't dangerous or pathetic or stumbling around like a zombie. So clearly Lovegood was her best option._

_Ettie had never had much experience making friends. Before Ettie had Maisie and that was it. In this world there was just Zabini...and that wasn't exactly a conventional relationship. She brainstormed ways to lure Lovegood into a friendship but in the end it wasn't her to make the first move._

_"I know you want to be friends with me," the midget said one night, much to the amusement of the other girls. The ones who were sober enough to be amused, anyway._

_"Not because you like me, obviously," Lovegood continued, "but you need to be seen making progress, right?"_

_"And you're...okay with this?" Ettie said slowly. Oh yeah, she talked now. Easy to get over her more antisocial tendencies when the alternative was a good hex and a babbling draft._

_"Certainly! Being needed for something is almost like somebody caring about you!"_

...

"Hello Harriet Potter," Lovegood said, her smile brittle. Ettie paused. Lovegood looked terrible, to be frank. Her shoes were gone, as were her radish earrings. It didn't look like she was wearing anything under her buttoned over robes.

Ettie knew exactly what was going on. She saw plenty of bullying both Before and in this world. Normally she minded her own business, but...

Lovegood was the only student who still talked to her. She was odd but sweet, just like Maisie.

Ettie's resolve hardened. 

"Who?" she said, the first word that wasn't a spell that she'd uttered in weeks. Lovegood blinked and didn't do her the disservice of pretending not to know what she was talking about.

"I don't think I'll tell you. I don't want them getting hurt."

Ettie rolled her eyes, slumping back against the wall of the empty corridor. The heartburn was back.

"Don't tell me you think I'm the--"

"Heir of Slytherin?" Lovegood giggled. "Of course not. You have too many claws to be a snake."

"...Okay," Ettie said. "So why would you think I'd hurt them?"

Lovegood eyed her as if she were the one acting oddly. "Because you have _claws_ , Harriet Potter. And you use them."

"Right, of course." Ettie blew her bangs out of her face. "But we're in the same House, Lovegood. I'll find out anyway, only I'll be even more irritated when I do."

Lovegood tilted her head and looked over Ettie's shoulder as if studying something. She nodded decisively.

"You're right, Harriet Potter. Marietta Edgecomb, Terry Boot, and all the girls in my dorm except Nile Martinez."

"Got it. Let's go."

They probably made an odd picture, the two of them. Ettie marched, her steps fast with purpose and anger. Luna skipped like she was going to a picnic. Ettie was all dark hair and sharp lines. Luna was pale hair and soft planes. The only similarity was their height.

Not that it mattered. At five o'clock in the morning not even the portraits were awake yet. Ettie led Luna straight through to the Common Room using a hidden passage she found in First Year. She really couldn't solve a riddle to save her life.

"Sit," Ettie instructed once they were inside. Luna sat, looking nothing so much as highly entertained. 

"Now," she said, "you will point out the culprits to me as soon as they appear. And I'll take care of it and you will come to me if they or anyone else bothers you ever again."

Ettie paused. 

"And other than that, don't talk to me."

"Yes ma'am." Luna saluted. Her fingers were conspicuously crossed.

Ettie grunted and threw herself into the chair next to Luna's. She spun her wand through her fingers like it was a drumstick and contemplated what hexes she should use. Hexes and curses were some of the few academic magics that she did extracurricular reading on, so she had plenty of options.

Ettie had compiled a list of painful or embarrassing spells that wouldn't case extensive damage and was reviewing the wand movements and incantations when the early birds of Ravenclaw entered the Common Room. 

They stared. And lingered, apparently sensing that something was about to go down. Or maybe they just weren't used to seeing her in the Tower except when she went up to bed. And okay, even then Snape let her go after curfew half the time, so.

"There," Luna whispered. "With the curly hair. Edgecomb."

Ettie raised her wand and told herself she didn't think the way every one flinched was funny. Or hurtful. Edgecomb shrieked as Ettie summoned her by the robes and stuck the bully's back to a chair on her other side.

She added a silencing charm five seconds later. What was the girl, half banshee? 

"Potter!" A pretty East Asian girl hurried over. "What do you think you're doing?!"

"Your little friend is a bully. Move."

"No! You can't just--" Ettie lost her patience. She disarmed the girl and used a spell to gently shove her back. A Prefect stepped forward.

"Potter, this behavior is not acceptable--"

"Boot by the door with the muggle bag," Lovegood said. Ettie summoned that boy too and gave him the same treatment.

"--detention for a month and don't make me take points from my own House--"

"And there's my dormmates," Lovegood said, nervous for the first time. Ettie's anger grew. Lovegood was bright and bold and sweet. Nobody should ever make her nervous.

Ettie stood up, ignoring the group of Prefects, and summoned the Firsties, excluding a brown skinned girl she assumed was Martinez. Luna didn't correct her.

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" One of the Prefects roared. He slashed his wand through the air--no spell, just unnecessary movement--and Ettie took the opportunity to cast the most powerful disarming spell she could. To her shock, every wand in the room save Lovegood and Martinez's landed at her feet.

Ettie calmly turned and cast a locking spell at the door, as if she'd meant to do that all along. 

"Sit down," she said quietly ( _oh Merlin_ _what did I just do--!_ ), "And shut up."

Even more to her shock, they did. Ettie was trying very hard not to burst into hysterical laughter as she turned back to the bullies. She let them go, not that they stood.

"Up," she snapped. "On your feet!" 

They scrambled to stand. Edgecomb and one of the Firsties were crying. Boot looked two seconds away from vomiting.

Ettie's stomach twisted. She couldn't hex them. Not like this, when they were helpless and frightened. 

Time to improvise.

"You six," she said evenly as she could, "have a problem. Can you tell me what it is? Any of you?"

Silence. Boot hiccuped loudly. 

"Hm. Pity. The problem is that you're all bullying parasites. I'm not going to waste pretty words on you lot, so listen up! If any of you so much as look at Luna Lovegood wrong, I'll hex you within an inch of your miserable lives."

Ettie looked around the room, meeting as many wide, frightened eyes as possible.

"That goes for all of you."

With that, Ettie turned sharply on her heel, cleared a path through the veritable sea of wands on the floor, and stalked out of the Common Room. Lun--Lovegood was right at her heels. 

As soon as the door shut behind them Ettie broke out into a run. When she was sufficiently far away she leaned over her knees and laughed breathlessly.

"I cannot believe I just did that," she cackled. 

Luna patted her back. When Ettie glanced up at her there was a beaming smile on her face and tears in her pale eyes. 

"Thank you, Harriet Potter." And then she hugged Ettie. _Hugged_. Her. 

Ettie stood frozen and couldn't bring herself to either move away or hug back. This was--it was her first hug since Lily and James Potter died. 

Lovegood pulled away after a minute. Ettie stepped back and cleared her throat. What the hell. 

"Thank you," Lovegood repeated. "You're a good friend, Harriet Potter."

"We're not friends," Ettie said. Lovegood's entire face crumpled. 

"But we're getting there," Ettie added, her mouth moving on its own. Lovegood brightened.

"Really?"

"...Really."

Lovegood shrieked and hugged her again. 

_What have I done?_

...

'Anything interesting happen lately?'

'Has it ever! Tom you're not even going to believe what Harriet Potter did on Wednesday!'

'Oh? Do tell.'

...

"You're lying! It may be the Girl-Who-Lived but she's still just a Second Year! There's just no way."

"I was there, you fluff brained moron! I swear it happened. She disarmed the entire room and overpowered the wards on the entrance to lock the door, all to scold some brats about bullying her little friend!"

"I still don't believe it. That's scary, mate. Imagine a kid with that kind of power!" 

"That's what I'm telling you!"

"Wait. You...you're serious?"

"YES!" 

"Merlin's pants. They should do something about her. We can't just have an overpowered little hellion running about pushing people around!"

"Yeah. They should throw her in Azkaban!"

"Woah, mate. She's still, like, twelve. Isn't that a little harsh?"

"You weren't there. You can't understand--it was like the air had caught fire. Every breath burned. It was almost impossible to move. Azkaban is the only place that could hold something like that."

"...Yeah. Yeah, maybe you're right."

...

Ettie stayed still and silent long after the pair of friends moved on. She had screwed up. She had screwed up big time. What was she thinking?!

But. If she hadn't done something drastic, then Luna--Lovegood, dang it--would still be tormented by people who should have been kissing the ground she walked on.

It was worth it. She just had to do damage control.

...When everybody already though she was crazy. And dangerous. And the Heir of Slytherin. And her only allies were some house elves and a possibly crazy little girl. Great. 

Ettie stowed her Cloak away and stalked off down the corridor. As she merged onto more frequented walkways, she was hyperaware of the way that people got out of her way, going quiet and whispering only after she had passed. The Slytherins nodded respectfully which just made it that much worse.  
  
She reached the Transfiguration room and ducked inside gratefully, only to come face to face with McGonagall. Ettie took a step to the side and eyed her warily.

"Potter, the Headmaster is requesting your presence." She handed Ettie a scrap of parchment. Her heart sank. Ettie grabbed the paper and marched back out the door. Whispers followed her and she couldn't help but pick out the words 'dangerous', 'expelled', 'good riddance' and 'Azkaban'.

 _These idiotic kids don't know nada_ , Ettie thought.

Still, she was woman enough to admit her heart was in her throat as she read the ridiculous password off the parchment McGonagall gave her. 

The gaqrgoyle guardian sprang to the side, revealing a spiral staircase. Ettie climbed up slower than she wanted to admit and hesitated before knocking on the door at the top of the stairs. His words from the beginning of the year echoed in her mind: the worst was yet to come. 

"You may enter," Dumbledore's wizened, cheerful voice called. Ettie pushed the door open.

"Hello, Miss Potter," he greeted. "Please, sit. I'm sure you've heard plenty of unsavory rumors, so allow me to lay your worries to rest. You are not being expelled or committed or imprisoned. I do not believe you are behind the recent attacks. Does that about cover it all?"

Ettie nodded. She still didn't like the man, but she could admit she felt better. 

"Excellent." He clapped his hands together. Ettie flinched and he looked sad for a moment before the smile was back. "Down to business, then. I am revoking the month of detention you were assigned, replacing it with a week of helping Hagrid with his duties every evening...and during the class that you habitually skip."

He gave her a look. Ettie shrugged and relaxed further in her seat. She wasn't sorry. 

Dumbledore shook his head but there was a twinkle in his eye. Ettie didn't trust it. He was so...grandfatherly, but reminded her of her Before brother at the same time, all gentle and charming on the surface. 

It remained to be seen what Dumbledore really was, but there had to be some sort of reason the Before Internet despised the man. Something about raising Harry Potter as a pig for slaughter. That would not be Ettie. 

"And Miss Potter, I commend you standing up for your friend, but please refrain from nearly cooking an entire Common Room alive, next time.

"I didn't exactly do it on purpose," Ettie said, startling herself.

"Ah. I see. I had hypothesized this was so. In that case, I have something for you." He reached into a desk drawer and produced a thin golden chain. Her eyebrows furrowed.

"This is an inhibitor." 

Ettie shot to her feet.

"No." Dumbledore frowned.

"My dear girl, I understand that they have a poor reputation in the Care Centers, but please hear me out--"

"I said no. Never again." The memory was seared into her brain.

_The Caretaker grabbed both her arms in one hand. Ettie snarled and kicked but nothing would make her let go. She was being dragged towards Isolation. Ettie couldn't go back to the dark of the cupboard; she wouldn't!_

_"Let--me--go!" Ettie yelled, the first words she'd spoken since arriving._

_"You've earned your punishment! I'll not give a celebrity special treatment, girl!"_

_It was the 'girl' that did it, said in the same shrill tone as Petunia when it was about to be the cupboard for a week with no food._

_Ettie's panic and desperation burst up out of control, resulting in a guttural howl and a shockwave of energy. Everything was blown backwards--furniture, children, Caretaker and all. Ettie turned and sprinted out the door, around the hall, and that was when she felt it. Cold metal closed around her wrist._

_Instantly Ettie felt exhausted, drained, as if she had run miles in scorching heat. She stumbled before regaining her feet but Ettie had lost her speed. Huge hands closed around her upper arms. The sensation of being spent increased with every heartbeat. The thing on her wrist burned._

_Ettie stumbled again and this time her knees buckled. The person swung her into their arms and kept on walking towards Isolation. Towards the cupboard. Ettie couldn't MOVE. It seemed impossible to even open her mouth to tell them to stop, but somehow she did._

_"Get off--not the--let go of me you little, get off--stop it--"_

_The person set Ettie semi-gently on the cot inside the Isolation Room and left. The door shut, leaving her in darkness with only the sound of her own breathing and the feel of the cot under her. But Ettie knew these sensations would fade as she got used to them._

_She tried to twitch, to fight off the numbness invading her limbs. Nothing. Before long even breathing was a struggle. Even inhale took concentration, every exhale a weak rush of air. It seemed like days before the door opened, letting in light that seared her eyes-_ -

"--otter! Miss Potter! Ettie!"

Ettie gasped back to life in the Headmaster's office. Senses returned in a powerful rush, strength and magic and everything that made her Ettie. She was buzzing, it seemed, sparking with agitated magical energy. 

Even the thought of losing that magic made her want to claw someone's eyes out. Ettie might have been perhaps the least appreciative towards her powers of any muggle raised kid ever, but magic had been this world's lifelong companion. From the moment she woke up, cold and wet and naked to when Voldemort destroyed her chance of a happy life to long nights in the cupboard, bleeding. She _needed_ her magic, not because of what it could do, but just to have something, anything that could never be taken away.

Or so she'd thought.

Ettie focused back in on Dumbledore. She pointed a shaky hand at the inhibitor necklace.

"Pardon the dramatics, but I'll die first."

And somehow that was that. Dumbledore bowed to her will, gave her a few books on controlling her magic, a note excusing her from classes for the day, and an apology. Then she was on her way. 

The second she jumped off the stairs, Ettie pulled on her Cloak and bolted.

...

"What news from Hogwarts, Lucius?"

"The Chamber of Secrets is open and the unworthy of the castle walk in a state of fear."

"Naturally. Nothing of Potter, then."

"No, my Lord."

"Mm. Dismissed. What is taking the blasted boy so long?"

...

Ginny Weasley groaned and stretched. What a day! Double Potions with the Slytherins? Who invented that torture?! She pulled out Tom's diary.

'I know you're one of the snakes and all, but Slytherins can be ruddy awful.'

Tom replied instantly.

'I am well aware of it. I can hardly count the number of times they hexed me when my back was turned.'

'What? But that's awful! You were one of them!'

'Yes, but I was also thought to be a "Mudblood". That cancelled out any House solidarity and then some.'

'I really do hate Slytherins then, all except you. I can't believe they would treat you like that when you're better than they'll ever be.'

'That's very kind of you, Ginny, but you must not judge an entire group of people based on a few individuals. That's what they do.'

'Sorry Tom.'

'It's quite alright luv.'

Ginny smiled. Tom was so sweet. He always brightened her day, even though her cold was getting worse with every passing day, leaving her constantly tired and sluggish.

...

"Excuse me, Potter? May I have a moment?"

Ettie put her book down, not even fighting the unpleasant smile that pulled at her lips. She'd been wondering when Zabini would come crawling back.

"Do you intend to beg?" she drawled, giving in to her inner villain and inspecting her nails. 

"If I must, yes."

"Oh, Blaise, of course you must."

She heard the sound of a deep, somehow wry breath, and then the rustle robes. Ettie looked down. Sure enough, Zabini was on his knees beside her chair, holding a bundle of scrolls like a bouquet. 

"Harriet Potter. I have behaved most abominably towards your person and I beg forgiveness. I was, and perhaps am, a fool of the highest order."

"I agree," Ettie said pleasantly. She crossed her leg at the knee, delighting in how the tip of her sweeping robes flicked across his cheek. "Continue."

"Very well, milady." Why did she get a thrill when he said that? "I cannot promise never to be a fool again, but I feel quite comfortable swearing never to be so large of one. If you will have me, that is."

"And if I will, what's in it for me?" she asked sweetly, throwing his words back in his face.  
  
"Access to a neutral familigia," Zabini said immediately. "The Zabinis have no recorded offences pertaining to the Blood War. We also act as a gateway into Europa, and own a significant portion of the agricultural establishments in Great Britain."

"That is useful," Ettie mused, letting her eyes fall to half mast. Quite the catch in fact, except for the farming bit. She didn't care about that. She cared that this was an escape from the coming war. The only hang up she had was why the Zabini was apparently pledging so much when they were both so young. Did his mother know about this?

But she could figure that out later.

"And what have you brought me?" she asked, raising an eyebrow in the direction of the scrolls. 

Zabini grinned. "I've noticed your tendency towards curses. I compiled a list of some of my favorites from the family library. I hope they are to you liking."

Ettie plucked one from his grasp and skimmed it. It was about a curse that turned the bones to a jell-like substance without resulting in immediate death, which was just fascinating. He'd recorded the entire passage too.

Five minutes and several pages later, Ettie remembered that Zabini was still there. She did not blush as she looked up, but it was a close thing.

"Enjoying you gift, milady?"

She smacked him lightly over the head.

"Obviously. In any case, you've certainly proven yourself either especially sincere or especially conniving. Either is worthy of my respect. So, Blaise Zabini, congratulations. You're on probation."

...

Ginny scribbled so quickly in Tom's diary that she wasn't sure he could even read it, but by Merlin she got every word of the conversation between Zabini and Harriet Potter. 

When they finally parted, Ginny shook out her cramped hand and relaxed inside the hidden compartment in the library wall. Tom found it when he was a student and it was incredibly useful in times like these.

'Fascinating,' Tom wrote. 'It seems our little Harriet is a snake in raven's feathers. I think I want a closer look. You don't mind, do you luv?'

Ginny knew no more.

...

As Ettie left the library, she became aware of someone following her. She was familiar with the sensation after being stalked by her creep father, Before. Whoever it was, they were good. She couldn't hear anything, didn't see so much as a flicker of color no matter how many times she peeked in reflections of shields or suits of armor.

Whatever spells they were using, Ettie wanted them.

As Ettie walked calmly through her usual route back to the Ravenclaw tower, she debated her options. Evade or engage was what it boiled down to. She could lose her stalker and possibly sneak up on them in return. Or she could engineer a confrontation to try and figure out their motives. 

When in doubt, make a list.

Pros:

Evade--she didn't have to deal with the tool

Engage--she got information

Cons: 

Evade--did nothing to solve the problem

Engage--she'd have to deal with the tool 

Ettie made a face to herself. Engage was clearly the better choice, but evade sounded much more tempting. She veered off course as subtly as she could, heading for a nearby corridor that was rarely frequented, riddled with secret passages, and didn't have a single portrait.

Operation 'Engage the Tool' was a go.

...

Tom smirked as he realized exactly where Potter was heading. He had used this corridor himself for confrontations in the past. The girl was becoming more and more interesting the longer he observed.

Potter stopped. Tom slowed as well and his eyebrows shot up when he saw her assume a very familiar posture. Limbs loose and easy, leaning against a wall reasonably near the most twisting hidden passage. Her wand twirled between her fingers.

Tom bit back an incredulous laugh. He had stood in that exact spot, adopted that exact pose, over fifty years ago as he faced down Abraxas and his sycophants, making them his own.

"You wanted something?" Potter said, tone sharp and disinterested simultaneously. It had taken Tom until his Forth Year to get that particular trick down. 

Instead of irritating him, Tom was fascinated. Their similarities had already been niggling in the back of his mind. Both orphans, halfbloods, they even looked something alike. She had his ruthlessness and cunning, all his sharp edges reflected back at him like a fun house mirror.

But now...oh yes, there was something deeper going on here.

"Who doesn't?" Tom replied after a beat of silence. The voice that came out was deeper than Ginny's and higher than his own. Perfectly androgynous. 

"Mm. And you in particular?"

Tom debated for a moment. He could think of a dozen different answers, but...why tell a lie when the truth was damaging enough? 

"I have orders to kill you. I'm trying to decide if I should." Because frankly, after leaving him alone in the nothingness for fifty years, Tom didn't owe the original shit. Of course he would still kill her if necessary, but not because Voldemort Said So.

Potter didn't tense up. If anything she relaxed further, loosening her muscles to move at any moment. 

"Well, I'm quite attatched to life. Anything I can do to sway your decision?"

Tom hummed, not fighting the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. It's not like Potter could see him, after all. 

"I suppose we'll find out. Do you mind talking for a bit?"

"Not at all," Potter replied, a sardonic twist to her lips. "Though it's rather difficult to converse with the air."

"I suppose it is," Tom agreed loftily. He did not render himself visible. 

"Well, do tell me before you leave or I'll be sitting here talking to myself."

"As the lady wishes. Now tell me, what is your favorite class and why?" 

Potter flipped her wand between her fingers. A small furrow appeared on her brow before she smoothed it away. "Potions. Nobody talks in that class."

He could understand the sentiment. 

"And your favorite area of study?"

"Curses," she answered promptly and without shame. 

"Your reasoning?"

She stared flatly at him. Well, technically she stared flatly at the bit of wall beside his head. "People, as you have so recently illustrated, want me dead. I'd rather not be."

"So why not focus on Defense?' Tom asked, somewhat curious as to what her response would be but feeling he knew the answer already.

"Sometimes the best defense is a good offense," Potter said, smirking. "But besides that, I want any idiot who attacks me to suffer as well. And I don't want them getting back up again."

That was rather more honesty than he was expecting. And rather more viciousness, from a prepubescent witch. Tom would have loved to stay and pick her ruthless little brain, but he was feeling the strain of Ginny's unconscious mind fighting against him. 

"Well, as lovely as this was, I must be going soon. Congratulations, Miss Potter. I'll not be killing you today."

"Appreciate it," Potter said dryly. 

"I'm sure. Now, luv, how do you feel about making this a regular thing?"

"...On two conditions. I get to see you. And we find someplace mutually acceptable to sit down."

Tom thought about it. He couldn't show her Ginny's face lest the game be up. She might well tattle to Dumbledore. But Tom's own face hadn't been seen in decades.

"Your conditions are acceptable. We will meet here at the same time in two weeks. Farewell, Miss Potter."

"Farewell, Mr Potential Murderer."

Tom allowed himself a laugh as he backed away. He knew his laughter was unsettling, and he took pleasure in the way Potter's eyes widened and her tiny frame shuddered for the first time of their conversation. 

He would have fun taking the girl apart.

...

As soon as the feeling of being watched went away, Ettie slid down the wall. She clutched her wild curls and tugged, letting the pain ground her.

Shit. _Shit_. 

"Shit," Ettie whispered, tears picking at the corners of her eyes. She took deep breaths but they were coming too fast. 

That laugh. Voldemort. The Diary. 

She just had a conversation with effing baby Voldemort--!

She was going to die. After all, Ettie was The Main Character. The Hero. The Protagonist. But life wasn't a story book and there was no plot armor. She was a twelve year old girl with half-forgotten memories of one potential future pitted against an immortal, basically all-powerful Dark Lord with an insanity problem and multiple versions of himself and an army and shit shit _shit_ _she couldn't win against that_ \--

Ettie stilled, a terrible idea blooming in her mind. No, she couldn't win. Even the original Harry Potter only won because of dumb luck, though she didn't have an inkling as to how. But she didn't have to win to live. 

She buried her face in her hands. Ettie felt dirty just thinking about it. But it was looking like the only place she would be safe was with the Dark Side. Would it be worth it? To be on the side of people who wanted to kill all the normal people and take over the world?

...Actually, was that what Voldemort wanted? She couldn't remember, but it definitely involved lots of murder!

_What, like you? Don't throw stones, killer._

Ettie pressed her palms to her eyes, trying to block out the voice. She wasn't like Voldemort! She would only hurt people who were in her way--lie. She hexed people all the time for being annoying. Well, Ettie wouldn't kill in cold blood without guilt--another lie; how guilty did she feel about Quirrel--

She wasn't going to think about that.

The point was, Voldemort killed for fun. She thought. Ettie cast her mind back, trying to remember all the people he murdered and why. It wasn't even the most macabre list she'd ever made.

People Voldemort Killed (or tried to kill):

Potters--fought against him in the war, birthed a Prophecy child

Harry Potter--symbol of defeat, Prophecy child, fought actively against him

Moaning Myrtle--she had no earthly clue

Ginny Weasley--needed her to die so he could live

That One Muggle Dude--overheard his plans (?)

Cedric Diggory--witness, wrong place at the wrong time

Arthur Weasley--uh...something about the Prophecy

Sirius Black--fighting against him (or was it Bellatrix that killed him? No, definitely Bellatrix)

His muggle dad and grandparents--revenge for leaving him in an orphanage during the Blitz, if the Before Internet was correct

Dumbledore--(via Malfoy/Snape) his Ultimate Rival for whatever it was he wanted

And...and--oh! Regulus Black--was a traitor

Ettie stopped and thought about that for a minute. Okay, so maybe Voldemort only seemed to kill for solid-ish reasons? ...Ugh, even thinking that made her feel like a terrible person.

"P-Potter?" Ettie's head snapped up at the same time as her wand. She blinked at the unconscious First Year on the floor. Whoops. Someone shrieked. 

Ettie looked up and saw an entire group of Firsties a way back from the other one. Double whoops. She stood slowly, trying for a nonthreatening smile.

"RUN!" one of them bellowed, and they all went charging down the corridor, leaving behind their friend. Ettie groaned. Just what she needed.

She crouched down and poked at the Firstie. He looked taller than herself, though not by much. The boy groaned and twitched, so at least he was alive.

"Rennervate," she tried. He twitched again. Ettie repeated the spell, and this time he sat up with a jolt.

"Wah!" he yelped. "Potter!" Ettie scowled.

"That's my name; don't wear it out."

"You can talk!"

Ettie didn't dignify that with a response. She reached down and hauled the kid to his feet by the front of his robes. 

"Get to the Hospital Wing," she ordered. "I'm not sure what spell I used."

The brat went kinda pale. "Bu-but I'm lost!"

Ettie clenched her hand around her wand and debated cursing him again just so she wouldn't have to deal with it. But she was trying to prove she wasn't like Voldemort, so she sighed and grabbed his wrist.

"Follow," she snapped. "I'll take you."

"Really?! Wow, thank you! And everyone says you're stone cold! You're actually pretty nice--"

"Shut up."

"Okay." 

The kid managed about thirty seconds of silence. Ettie's fast strides and heeled boots made up for her short legs and he was trotting to keep up. 

"I'm Colin Creevey, by the way."

"I don't care." Ettie walked faster, eager to reach their destination and wishing she'd just left him alone in the first place.

"So, why does everyone think you're evil?" Ettie ignored him in hopes that he would get discouraged and stop talking. No such luck.

"I mean, I guess you look kinda scary and all. Did you know you're really pale? Like, like a ghost or a dead person. I can see the veins in your face! And then your hair is really crazy, like vines with thorns and stuff! And your eyes--"

"Shut. Up."

"S-sorry!" 

Another precious few minutes of silence.  
  
"How come you wear heels? Is it to make you taller? It's not really working. You're still shorter than me and I'm not even that big!"

Ettie silenced him with a jab of her wand. Her head hurt. But at least she wasn't panicking about Voldemort and dying anymore. Ugh.

Soon enough they reached more populated corridors. People stared as if she were about to eat Creevey right in front of them. Ettie undid the silencing spell, ignoring how a nearby Gryffindor darted for their wand.

"Thanks Potter!" Creevey chirped, as if he couldn't feel the weight of dozens of gazes weighing down on them. Mostly her.

Ettie didn't respond. She had the feeling she'd get hexed if she stayed any longer.

...

Two days later, Colin Creevey was found petrified. Blaise was the one who told her and gave Ettie a look that was admiring and cautious at the same time. She decided she was skipping classes that day.

It didn't help. 

"Look here, Gred! See what I found." 

"Ooh, nice work Forge! Caught a nasty little Heiress, have you?" 

Ettie glanced between the twins, their hard eyes and sharp smiles, and prepared to fight. She probably should have tried collecting the Weasley Terrors as allies the year before, but it was too late for that. 

"Beating on twelve year olds now?" she said quietly. 

"Only when the twelve year old is a baby Dark Lord in the habit of attacking kitties and Firsties," one said, stepping closer. 

"Would you believe me if I said I haven't done any of that?" 

"Not a chance," they chorused. One flourished his wand. Ettie had a shield up in a split second, but no spell came towards her. Instead, the walls began to glow as the twins backed away, laughing. Ettie hissed as something sticky sprayed at her from all sides. Immediately her skin started to burn and she watched in horror as hideous, aching boils rose across her hands and arms. 

The walls glowed again and her hair began to feel oddly heavy and cold and--scaly?! Ettie screamed when something brushed against her cheek, the back of her neck, her forehead.

Snakes! Those miserable rats turned her hair to snakes! She screamed again as they began biting her; small vicious bites. As if all that wasn't enough, the bit of stone she was standing on began to levitate and she couldn't get off no matter what she tried.   
The small platform drifted down the corridor towards the main part of the castle. They meant to make a spectacle of her!

Ettie's veins grew cold with fury. Panic receeded.

She stopped throwing spells at the transparent barriers around her and sat down. Theoretically speaking, any ward could be overpowered through sheer strength. If she could muster enough magic, it wouldn't matter than she didn't know the specific counter.  
  
Ettie drew deep slow breaths. With every inhale she pulled at the magic coiled in her marrow, more than she had ever tried to reach for before. There was laughter and hooting around her but Ettie just sat there, collecting magic until every limb tinged like she was holding a live electrical wire. The laughter turned to shrieks and gasps of fear. When she had more magic buzzing under her skin than she though was possible, Ettie opened her eyes. 

The ward was no longer invisible. It pulsed with iridescent light, concentrated in 'knots' every meter or so. The largest knot was slightly to her left. Ettie reached out towards it, almost gasping when she saw her own hand, just as iridescent as the ward. Shaking it off, she touched the knot and poured her magic into it. The walls collapsed with a sound like thunder and a massive gust of wind. 

Ettie stood. Her pulse pounded in her ears and she felt like he was watching her body move on its own. Just like the Ravenclaw Tower incident, or when she defended he Gryffindor Stalkers. 

The Weasley twins watched with wide eyes as she approached. Distant delight thrummed through her, satisfaction at their fear. 

"You shouldn't have done that," she said softly. Her voice held echoes of a voice much deeper than her own. One Weasley shot a curse at her. Ettie batted it away with her bare hand and flicked her wrist. The twins flew into the air. Faint scales crawled across their skin. Hair fell to the floor and noses squashed into their faces, lips thinning to nothing. 

Within seconds two replicas of the monster Ettie saw in her dreams stood before her. Her mouth twitched into a smile. 

"Who's the Dark Lord now?" she cooed. 

Someone threw up noisily. Ettie remembered she had an audience and turned slowly in a circle, surveying the frozen students around her. They'd laughed at her. Mocked her pain.

Ettie bared her teeth and flung her magic out, barely hanging onto the presence of mind not to hex the ones who nodded to her in the halls. She knew every one of their faces. 

Dozens of limp, unconscious bodies crumpled to the floor. Ettie spun on her heel and stalked down the corridor and didn't stop until she reached the abandoned lavatory on the second floor. Ettie slammed and locked the door of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom behind her. Her shoulders slumped, her hands shook, and Ettie stumbled towards the sinks. The air smelled foul; Myrtle probably screwed up the plumbing again.

"Well," she breathed at her reflection. The boils had popped, leaving pockets and rivers of blood streaked across her skin. The snakes were cowed, resting their heads quietly against her shoulders. When she spoke, Ettie saw the flash of long, needle sharp teeth where her upper and lower canines should have been. The pupils of her eyes were thin and vertical. The twins had quite literally turned her into a monster.

Ettie turned her head side to side, flinching as the snakes swayed with her, flicking their tongues out. Those had to go. Right away.

She bit her lip, wincing as her new fangs cut into her flesh. Ettie reached up and gave one snake an experimental tug. 

"Ouch!"

Okay, so cutting them off was a no go. She likely needed the actual countercurse. But Ettie couldn't exactly go waltzing through the library like this!

Ettie leveled her wand at herself. "Episkey."

The raw wounds caused by the boils healed over slowly, and Ettie exhaled in relief. Next she siphoned the blood and pus off of skin and clothes as best she could. She felt better until she looked in the mirror and realized her skin was green. Thankfully it was only a basic color changing charm. 

When she got to her teeth Ettie hesitated. Was it awful that she actually kind of liked them? Probably. But they made her look badass, so. The claws, though equally awesome, weren't as practical. Ettie didn't really know how to do human Transfiguration, weird fits of unnatural power aside, so she shrunk them to the size of normal fingernails. 

Ettie chewed her lip, gently this time. That was all she could do. 

"Well done Miss Potter," a familiar voice said. Ettie whirled around and sent a blood-boiling curse straight at baby Voldemort's stupid head. He blocked it with ease.

"Finally decided to show your face?" she sneered. Voldemort ignored her, tilting his head to the side. 

"They should have humiliated you," he said. "But you turned the tables and humiliated them instead."

"Are you here to tell me things I already know?" Ettie snapped. Baby Voldemort grinned. It was an unfairly attractive expression.

"I'd like to offer my assistance," he said with a little half bow, "in resolving your rather unfortunate hair day."

Ettie considered it. Good sense told her to swallow her pride and just go to the library. Better not to risk the Dark Lord pointing his wand at her head. Pride said that it didn't want to be swallowed, thanks, and to just accept the help. She didn't want all those people to see her! 

Pride won.

"Fine," she bit out. "And if you kill me I'll haunt the crap out of you."

Baby Voldemort snickered. 

"Fair enough. Now turn around." Ettie did so, facing the mirror so she could still see him. Voldemort waved his wand in slow patterns, muttering under his breath. One at a time the snakes glowed and dissolved back into hair.   
As soon as he was done Ettie whipped back around.

"Now, what do we say?" he asked patronizingly. 

"Screw you," Ettie said sweetly. "You might kill me; I don't owe you a thing."

Voldemort actually laughed, long and loud. 

"Ah, you do amuse me," he sighed, sounding like an old fashioned asshole in a black and white move. 

"I'm glad. Now get out."

"But we were getting along so well!"

"Sure. But the deal was to meet up in a week. It's been two days. Therefore, I don't have to put up with your bull."

He snickered again, but there was something that rang false about it.

"Pushy," he murmured, a dark undercurrent of anger in his smooth voice. Ettie griped her wand tighter, wondering if she had miscalculated and was about to be splattered across the walls. Voldemort gave her a very creepy smile, as if he could hear her thoughts. 

"No, Miss Potter. I'll not be killing you today."  
And then he turned and wandered out of the bathroom, hands stuck casually in the pockets of his robes.

Ettie couldn't relax even after he was gone. She went to pull out her Invisibility Cloak and--

The Cloak!

Ettie swore loudly and punched the mirror. She could have gone to the library any time!

...

Inside the largest stall with their cauldron of Polyjuice, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger exchanged wide eyed looks.

...

There were both advantages and drawbacks to Ettie's little display of power. On the one hand, people stopped hexing her completely, stopped glaring at her--some of them even stopped breathing as she passed. On the other hand, Ettie had detention with McGonagall every night for a month under threat of suspension.

After all, it wasn't acceptable to "abuse your magical prowess to terrorize your fellow students with a spectre of fear" and she was lucky that "the Headmaster has declined to expel you, though Merlin only knows why". Oh, and all the other teachers now hated her too. Even Flickwick, who Ettie had actually thought was on her side, scowled when he met her eye. Snape was the only one who treated her the same and he had never been pleasant. 

"Potter," McGonagall snapped. "Another week for not paying attention."

Ettie bared her pointy teeth and relished in the way the witch shuddered.

...

_"Wake up, Harriet Potter," Lovegood whispered, poking Ettie's foot._

_Ettie, who had been awake for the past hour, sat up and squinted at the blonde midget._

_"Why?"_

_"Pluto is rising. You need to be ready lest you be caught as a liar by the seven headed snake."_

_"...What."_

_"Just get up, Harriet Potter, and I'll teach you to read stars and teacups, to see the future in palms and daydreams."_

_Ettie had very little idea what Lovegood was talking about, but what else was new? But the midget had a nasty habit of being right about things she had no business even knowing, and telling the future was a real thing in this world. It would be a useful talent._

_So Ettie got up and let Lovegood teach her the 'path of the stars'._

...

"Why. Have they not. Expelled her yet?!"

"Maybe she has Dumbledore under the Imperius Curse."

"Or she's sleeping with Snape."

"What?! Ew! Don't even say that!"

"Come _on_ mate."

"No, it makes sense! She visits him every day and doesn't leave until way after curfew and almost always comes out with bruises and a limp!"

"That doesn't mean they're shagging. Potter's a freak but she's still twelve."

"First of all, she's more than just a freak; she's a right monster. Second of all, Snape is definitely messed up enough to be a pedophile."

"Right on the first, but way off on the second. He's never shown any sort of...of inclinations towards that. No way Dumbledore would let him stick around!"

"Yeah, well Dumbledore has gone a bit off his rocker, hasn't he? Not expelling Potter and all that."

"Okay, true. But that still doesn't mean Snape is a sex offender."

"Oh Merlin."

"What is it?"

"Never say the words 'Snape' and 'sex' in the same sentence again. Please."

...

Ettie spun to the side to avoid Snape's blistering hex, sent the table flying towards him, and took a split second breather. Then it was back into the fray. Ettie waited for the opportune moment to say:

"Rumors say we're having sex, Professor."

Snape choked, faltered, and in seconds he was trussed up on the floor, his wand resting in Ettie's hand. For a moment she was stunned. Then she leaped up in the air, whooping.

"YES! I did it! Ha-HA!"

"Yes yes, you're very skilled at being utterly disgusting, now let me up," Snape sneered. His eyes were just a tad wider than usual, betraying his lingering shock. 

Ettie obligingly called off the ropes and handed Snape back his wand, handle first. 

"I still won," she sang.

"You cheated," Snape corrected irritably.

"No, Professor, I used every weapon avaliable to me in order to win. Just like you taught me! Aren't you proud?"

"Of a Potter?" Snape sneered. "Perish the thought."

"Nonsense," Ettie dismissed. "You know you love me."

"Go to bed, brat." He emphasized his words with a hex that Ettie barely dodged. Smirking to herself, Ettie went.

...

Hermione Granger had a plan. And if that plan included explosions, theft, illegal brewing and kidnapping, well, in her defense Ron Weasley was the other mastermind.

And so maybe they could have done it a different way--learning invisibility spells and then eavesdropping, perhaps--this one had the highest chances of success. The biggest issue would be the discrepancy between Ron and Hermione's behaviors and that of Lovegood and Zabini. Observation could only help so much.

Still, it was unlikely to be an issue. What kind of person went from 'my friend is acting oddly' to 'they must be an imposter'?

"Ready?" Ron mouthed, pulling his hood over his hair. Hermione nodded and held up three fingers. 

One. 

Lovegood's pattering steps and absent humming came closer.

Two. 

Hermione's wand vibrated, the spell telling her that Lovegood was within two meters of her.

Three!

Hermione yanked the door open, Ron summoned Lovegood by the robes, and Hermione shut the door again.

"Silencio!" Hermione squeaked belatedly.

Thankfully Lovegood hadn't screamed. She only blinked up at them with huge, curious eyes and, Merlin, she was just _tiny_.

"I'm so sorry about this," Hermione said as she spelled the girl's limbs together. "We're not going to hurt you, promise!"

"Hurry it up," Ron said, pitching his voice deeper so it wouldn't be recognized.

"Fine. Stupefy!" Lovegood's eyes fluttered shut and Ron lowered her carefully to the ground. Hermione went over and carefully pulled a hair from her head.

"Got it!" she said unnecessarily. 

Ron grinned at her as if this wasn't making him the slightest bit nervous or guilty. He turned away as she changed into Lovegood's robes.

"Great job, Mione. Zabini next."

Ron had managed to cajole the twins into pranking Zabini by trapping him in the bathroom with a dung bomb, so they knew where he was. They left Lovegood tied up and locked in the unused classroom, her wand nestled safely in Hermione's pocket. 

Hermione waited outside as Ron went into the loo. He emerged a few seconds later, laughing and coughing. 

"Twins caught the git with his pants down! Literally!"

"Ron!" Hermione snapped, but there was a smile tugging at the edges of her lips. Ron grinned unapologetically and held up the hair he collected.

"Knocked him out good too," he said, brandishing his wand in one hand and Zabini's robes in the other. 

"That's great Ron! The stunning curse is a fifth year spell," Hermione told him. Ron's ears turned pink.

"Yeah, well...it's all in the wrist movement, y'know."

"Right," Hermione snorted. "Well Mr Wrist Movement, we better get going. Potter will be leaving detention soon. You remember the plan? You go in as Zabini and--"

"I got it Mione, relax. I'll be 'asking for my dad' and if that doesn't work you'll come along and just ask, all blunt-like because Loony can get away with it." 

"Right." Hermione nodded. "Rudimentary, but good enough." 

They ducked into Moaning Myrtle's bathroom to get the potion. Hermione added Lovegood's hair and watched as it turned to a cool silvery blue color. She peeked over at Ron's, which was a swirling golden brown.

"Bottoms up?" Ron suggested, grimacing. In response Hermione lifted her glass and knocked back the potion like she saw people do with alcohol in films. She gagged but eventually swallowed it down. Then the pain hit, but before Hermione could worry she messed up, she opened her eyes and saw Lovegood's pale visage peering back at her in the cracked mirror. She turned and saw Zabini's proud, handsome face peering back at her.

"Let's do this."

... 

Ron was waiting when Potter stalked out of detention, leaning against the wall in what he felt was a very Zabini way. 

"Potter," he greeted. She looked at him with such a blank expression, poison colored eyes hard and fierce, that for a second Ron thought she saw right through him. 

"Zabini," she said. Her voice was incongruously soft and high pitched. Then she just started walking and Ron had to scramble to catch up. For such a short witch she sure walked fast.

"I need to ask you something," Ron began awkwardly. Potter glanced at him.

"I figured. Why do you think we're going to the Alcove?"

"Oh, right," Ron nodded. Alcove?

They walked in awkward silence for a few minutes. Suddenly Potter grabbed the front of his robes with startling strength and shoved him into a small nook behind a suit of armor. Sure he had been caught, Ron was momentarily too frightened to yelp. 

"Spill," Potter demanded imperiously. 

"Merlin's– Warn a guy, would you?!" Ron sputtered. 

"No. What did you want to talk about?

"Er, right." Ron tried to remember how Slytherins talked, but the only one he'd ever spoken to was Malfoy. "My father--he's a very important man, you know--has, er, demanded to--"

"Your...father," Potter repeated, a strange look in her eyes.

"Yeah. Anyway, he needs to have evidence that you're really...you know."

Potter stared at him, freakishly blank. Except for her eyes, which always seemed to burn. Ron fidgeted. Without breaking eye contact, she raised her chin and called:

"Luna, darling friend, if you would please join us?" 

Ron resisted the urge to gulp nervously. Hermione stepped into the alcove, moving hesitantly.

"Yes, er, Harriet?"

Potter smiled. Her fanged teeth glinted in the candle light. 

"The two of you," she said gently, sweetly, "are terrible actors."

And then everything went black.

...

When Ron opened his eyes it was to the sight of Severus Snape's scowling, greasy visage, face distorted with the force of his rage. As anybody else would do when Snape was the first thing they saw waking up, Ron yelled in fright and took a swing.

His fist didn't get within half a meter of Snape's stupidly large nose before it froze. 

"Well Headmaster, it seems we can add attempted assault of a teacher to Mr Weasley's list of wrongdoings."

Ron's mouth went dry. His gaze darted the other people in the room: Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Hermione. Hermione was still unconscious and Ron wished he could join her. Snape pointed his wand at Ron's best friend; he bolted upright but Hermione only woke up with a squeak. 

"Professor!" she gasped. 

"Hello Miss Granger," Snape said unpleasantly. He was smiling.

"How could you be so foolish!" McGonagall burst out. "In all my years, never have my students disappointed me as much as you two!"

Ron saw Hermione's face crumple and doubted he looked much better.

"Miss Granger. Mr Weasley. Do you have any idea of the severity of your actions?"

Dumbledore spoke up, studying them intently. His voice was so calm; Ron would have felt better if he yelled.

"Not only have you illegally brewed a class XXXX restricted potion, a crime whether you had used it or not, but you also assaulted and stole the identities of two fellow students. Perhaps one of you can tell me the sentence for illegal brewing? Identity theft?"

Ron didn't know.

"Between one and t-ten hundred galleons fine a-and a prison sentence up to a year for--for illegal brewing. I...don't know about identity theft," Hermione said quietly. Ron felt the blood leave his face. Even a hundred galleons would leave his family in debt for ages!

"For your information, Miss Granger, the current punishment for identity theft is life in Azkaban."

"You can't be serious!" Ron croaked. 

"I am, Mr Weasley," Dumbledore said firmly. "The consequences of your actions are severe."

"Bu-but we're just kids!" Ron said desperately. 

"Unfortunately," Snape muttered.  
  
"Indeed you are. I have already been in contact with the DMLE and the parents of Miss Lovegood and Mr Zabini, and all parties have agreed to a reduced punishment due to your young ages."

"Thank Merlin," Ron breathed, sinking back in his seat.

"Don't celebrate yet, Weasley," Snape said, smiling unpleasantly again. "After all, you don't know what the punishment is to be."

Ron looked to Dumbledore, hoping he would say that it wasn't as bad as Snape made it sound. The Headmaster only met his eyes solemnly. It was then that it sunk in: they had really buggered it up.

"Before we can address consequences, there is something you just tell us, for the record," McGonagall said, lips pressed thin and eyes suspiciously shiny. "Who was it that brewed the potion?"

Ron's heart dropped into his stomach.

"I did it," he cried, leaping to his feet. "I brewed the Polyjuice! It was me!"

"Sit down Weasley," Snape and McGonagall snapped in perfect unison. 

"Miss Granger?" Snape prompted, and for the first time that awful smile was completely gone. Ron felt tears gathering. It must have been a really horrible consequence if even Snape felt bad.

"She didn't do it!" Ron tried to yell but it came out as a whisper instead, like in a nightmare where you screamed for help but no noise came out.

Hermione lifted her head, tears making silvery tracks down her sun kissed cheeks. "It was my idea to brew the Polyjuice, and I was the one who did it. I didn't even let Ron help. I understand that what I have done is wrong," her voice cracked here, "a-and I will accept any punishment you see fit to give me."

"Foolish child," McGonagall hiccuped. She swooped down to hug Hermione, who clung to her. 

Ron lost the fight against tears.

Then, of ruddy course, the door swung open and the first one through was a wizard who could only be Malfoy's father.

"What is he doing here?!" Ron blurted.

Malfoy Sr sneered at him and said nothing as he moved further inside, followed by a beautiful dark skinned woman and a thin man with Lovegood's pale blond hair and terrible fashion sense. Last came a broad shouldered woman sporting short hair and a monocle.

"Miss Hermione Granger," Malfoy drawled, handing her a scroll, "as Head of the Hogwarts Board of Governors, it gives me no pleasure to inform you that you have been expelled from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry--"

"You can't do this!"

"Sit down Mr Weasley," Snape hissed, shoving him back into his seat.

"--on charges of brewing, in full knowledge, a class XXXX restricted potion, use of said potion, and identity theft of a Pureblood Heiress, effective immediately. You have twenty four hours to collect your belongings and say your goodbyes."

Ron glared helplessly at Malfoy--Snape had silenced him. The git smiled thinly at Hermione, who was sobbing in McGonagall's arms, and turned to Dumbledore. He handed him another scroll.

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore said, "I was wondering when this notice would arrive."

"Naturally. After all, you have failed spectacularly in not only keeping your students safe but also in preventing them from commiting felonies."

"What is the meaning of this?" McGonagall demanded.

"Headmast--I beg your pardon, _Mr_ Dumbledore--has been relieved of his duties to this school. It was a unanimous vote."

"You can't do that!" 

"Minerva, stop imitating your students and sit down before you make a fool of yourself," Snape barked, grabbing her arm and leading her to a chair.

"With Albus gone students will be dying next!"

"That, Professor, is why I am here," monocle lady said. "I understand there is one suspect widely believed to be guilty and another that was previously found guilty. I will be speaking with both of them."

Ron should have felt--relieved? Satisfied? Vindicated? But all he felt was hollow. So what if Potter would get caught? Hermione was still expelled and Ron didn't even know what his sentence was. 

"What are you waiting for then?" McGonagall snapped. "Go and arrest the little--"

"Minerva, please," Dumbledore said. "I have told you before that I do not believe Miss Potter to be guilty."

"Whatever the case may be, I shall find out. With your leave, Headmistress, I will be on my way."

The skin around McGonagall's eyes tightened in a minute flinch at the title but she nodded sharply. "Of course, Madame Bones."

Bones nodded in return, turned on her heel, and left the room. 

"I believe that is my cue," Malfoy said. "Dumbledore."

"Of course," he said gracefully. "Just remember, if you will, that help will always be given at Hogwarts to those that ask for it."

And then the two of them were gone. 

A long, horrible silence ensued, broken only by Hermione's soft crying. 

"If we could get on with it?" Zabini's mother said in lightly accented English. 

McGonagall's nostrils flared. "Would it be too much to ask, Countess Zabini, for some sensitivity in these trying times?"

"Yes," Zabini answered, "seeing as every moment wasted here is time not spent with _il mio ragazzo_. He is very traumatized, you know."

McGonagall looked ready to fight before Snape stepped in. 

"Naturally, Countess." Snape turned back to the curled-up Hermione. "In addition to your expulsion, which does not include the snapping of your wand, you have been assigned one hundred hours of community service and a hundred galleon fine.

"As for you, Mr Weasley." Snape's smile was back. "You have been suspended for the remainder of the school year and likewise been fined one hundred galleons and one hundred hours of community service. 

"And finally...The both of you are to be led on a guided tour of Azkaban prison, as a deterrent against future crimes. Any questions?"

...

When a stone-faced Professor Flickwick came to get Ettie with the news that the Head of the DMLE was here for an 'interview' Ettie couldn't say she was surprised. She'd both expected and foreseen this weeks ago and prepared accordingly. 

"Miss Potter, I assume you know why you are here."

"Obviously."

"Excellent. Now, before we begin, let us examine the consequences, hypothetically of course, you would face were you to be found guilty of these attacks--" 

"--expulsion, a hefty fine and then confinement in a Care Center until my majority, yes, I'm aware," Ettie finished, leaning forward in her chair and making direct eye contact.  
  
"You don't seem worried," Bones observed.

"I'm not."

The silence stretched as they stared each other down. Ettie was impressed. She knew her eyes were hard to look at, especially since her pupils had turned to slits.

"Well, as supremely unconcerned as you are, how would you feel about testifying under veritaserum? Miss Potter."

Ettie smiled, showing off her fangs.

"Madame, I thought you would never ask."

...

"What is your name?"

"Harriet Lily Potter."

"School House?"

"Ravenclaw."

"Vital signs indicate it's working, Madame Bones."

"Good. Potter, are you the individual known as the Heir or Heiress of Slytherin?"

"No."

"Are you responsible for the attacks on Hogwarts students this current school year, including Alice Jefferson, Michael Barnes, Colin Creevey, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Penelope Clearwater, the ghost of Gryffindor Tower and a cat known as Mrs Norris?"

"No."

"What knowledge do you have of these attacks?"

"No more than anybody else."

"Elaborate."

"I read a book about it. The Heir targets Muggleborns. The attacked students are petrified. The--"

"That's enough. To your knowledge, is there any way you could be held culpable for the attacks at Hogwarts this year?"

"Yes."

"Elaborate."

"I have done nothing to stop them."

"Do you really think you could, Miss Potter?"

"I don't know."

"Hm, very well. Dawlish, administer the antidote. Potter is innocent."

...

The next time Ettie met up with Zabini, he was the one who pulled her into a shadowy corner.

"Is it true? You're not really the Heir?" he demanded, not even appearing worried by the wand she had shoved under his jaw. She hexed him just for the insult.

Zabini swore. 

"Is it true? Answer me!" 

Ettie shoved him against the wall. "Did I ever confirm that rumor?"

"You didn't deny it either!"

"And would you have believed me? Would anyone?" she shot back.

His silence was answer enough. 

"Do you understand what you've done to us?" Zabini whispered, sparks flashing in his gold eyes. "Me especially?"

It was Ettie's turn to be quiet. Zabini started to turn away and before she knew what she was doing she grabbed his wrist.

"If you take me to the Slytherin Common Room," she said, "I'll prove you haven't wasted your time. Any of you."

"...All right, Potter. Meet me at the Alcove after dinner."

...

Ettie stood in the middle of the Slytherins' Snake Pit, running her eyes over the snakes sculpted and carved and painted on nearly every surface. She could feel the magic in them.

That was a much better idea that summoning a single snake.

Ettie ignored the judgemental silence and closed her eyes, raising her arms from her side for effect.

~Wake up, little serpents,~ she called. For a moment nothing happened. Then, as Ettie opened her eyes the room came live. Snakes melted from the walls, dropped from the ceiling, slithered from the furniture. 

A handful of people shrieked, but most kept their reactions to muted gasps, holding carefully motionless as snakes slid over them to reach Ettie. She crouched down to receive them, letting the little creatures wind around her arms, drape across her shoulders, tangle between her fingers. The larger ones twined around her feet in a seamless, intricate dance.

Zabini stepped forward cautiously, eyes blown wide with awe. He raised his wand, pointed repectfully away from her.

"Serpensorsia," he said. A brilliant white cobra shot from the end of his wand and joined the dance around her feet, hissing a reverent:

~Speaker.~ 

~Welcome,~ she replied.

One by one, the other Slytherins who could cast the same spell. Before long the room was filled with snakes, so many that even the other students had some slithering across their feet.

When Ettie's arms started to burn under the weight, she crouched back down.

~You can go now little serpents.~

The artificial snakes merged back into the room, leaving only the summoned ones, of which there were many. Ettie eyed the white king cobra and held out her hand to it.

~Come here, pretty.~ 

It obeyed immediately. Ettie draped it across her shoulders and looked to Zabini.

"Thank you, Blaise."

He gave a little half-bow, a genuine smile lifting his lips. "Of course, milady."

Ettie nodded back, just a gentle dip of her head. The other Slytherins bowed almost as a one she nodded to them as a whole.

Then she turned and walked out of the room, trusting them with her exposed back.

...

Ettie sat petting her snake in a hidden passage, re-examining her life choices. Non-interference? Flying under the radar? Who were they? Ettie had always been a staunch non-conformist. She was who she was and refused to hide it or change. What difference did avoiding Main Characters and getting into the most boring House make, really? Not much when she was the Ultimate Main Character.

She stared glumly at the snake. Ettie was wavering between calling it Alabaster for its color or Ebony for the irony.

~Little snake,~ Ettie sighed, ~I think I'm an idiot.~

~Speakers can be idiots?~ The snake–Ebony, she decided–sounded quite interested. 

~Like nobody's business,~ she agreed.

Ebony made the snakey equivalent of a hum.

~Do not worry, speaker. I am the best among snakes. I will keep you from being too stupid.~

Ettie snorted.

~Sure. Thanks Ebony.~

~Naturally. May I go hunt for mice?~

She hesitated. Ettie didn't doubt he would be killed if he was seen, whether by staff or students. 

~Not yet. There's...something I need to do first. But after you will be able to hunt as you please.~

Ettie was done half-assing it. If her personality saw her painted as a Dark Lady, then fine. She might as well go all the way.

...

Minerva's eyes locked on Harriet Potter the second she entered the room. Minerva had been prepared to love the girl, to pity her, to guide and help and occasionally punish her. Her father, after all, was James Potter. 

What Minerva had not expected was to hate the girl, no matter that teachers should be above such things. The girl who driven the best student Hogwarts had seen in half a century to measures that left her expelled. The girl who walked on air while her peers cowered in fear. The girl who was _apparently_ innocent of opening the Chamber.

The girl who had just waltzed into the Great Hall with a young king cobra coiled across her torso. 

Potter walked right up to the staff table and stood there, looking defiantly bored without moving a muscle. Somehow.

Minerva rose from her chair.

"Miss Potter, I dearly hope you have brought that snake here to seek assistance in banishing it."

"No. I've come to tell you that I'm keeping him."

"It's against the rules--"

"Both Percival and Ronald Weasley have had a rat for years."

"Rats are not dangerous in the way a snake is."

"Marina Stewards has a pygmy fire crab."

Minerva felt her nostrils flaring. "Be as it may, I cannot allow you to keep the beast."

"Why?"

_Because I don't trust you with it. Because snakes are the symbol of everything three fourths of the school has grown up in fear of. Because that thing gives me the creeps._

"There is no way for you to ensure it will not harm anyone."

Potter smirked, the first time Minerva had ever seen something resembling a true smile on her face. It made her look like a dark mirror of Lily. 

"Oh but Professor, there is!"

And then Harriet Potter looked down at her snake, its head resting on her shoulder, and hissed.

The snake lifted it's head and hissed back. Minerva could only stare as the girl turned and addressed the student body.

"Yes, I speak snake. This one is mine and if any one of you hurt him I'll take it out of your hide sevenfold. If he doesn't do it first."

...

"Hey Tippy? Can I ask you for a favor?"

"Of course! Anything for Missy Potter."

"Then would you please help me with some spells to protect Ebony here? I'm afraid people will try and hurt him and I know elf magic can do things a witch's can't."

"Oh yes, Tippy will be doing that right away!"

"Thanks Tip. You're a life saver."

...

Ettie got to keep the snake, due to McGonagall's shock if nothing else. Said snake was spelled as impervious to physical and magical damage as he could be. Ettie was very smug about this up until the point she went to sleep that night and woke up in the Chamber of Secrets. 

"You," an unfortunately familiar voice drawled, "are a Parselmouth."

Ettie slowly sat up, surprised that she was able. Her wand was nowhere to be found and her Ebony was hung over baby Voldemort's shoulders like a scarf.

"Give me my snake, baby Voldemort."

Oh.

Oh shit. Did she just--

"You did," Voldemort confirmed, leaning forward with fascination writ across his face. "And how exactly did you know, baby Potter?"

Ettie fought the urge to swallow. 

"Who else would want to kill me?" she deflected.

"A good many people, especially after your little stunt earlier. But no, that isn't how. _Tell the truth_ , little love."

Ettie felt the oddest urge to actually give him the truth. That would not end well, so she blurted out a related truth instead.

"I dreamed about it." She did, almost every night, of a thousand different ways that Voldemort would kill her, sending her back into the cycle of reincarnated misery.

His dark eyes lit up. "A Seer? And what else have you dreamed?"

_You need to be ready lest you be caught as a liar by the seven headed snake._

She did swallow then. Merlin, Ettie owed Lovegood big time.

"You came from a book, given to Ginny Weasley." She almost said it was the work of Lucius Malfoy, but the idea rang false in her mind. "Voldemort sent you."

"And do you know what I am?" He leaned forward even further, kneeling over her. Their faces were inches apart and she could see a ring of bloody red around the pupils of his russet abrown eyes. 

"A--a memory," Ettie stuttered, and immediately cursed herself for it. Something about baby Voldemort seemed to relax, though he didn't move a muscle.

"Indeed. And what is my name?"

"...Thomas." It was a guess. Ettie really couldn't remember. 

He laughed, and it wasn't the high, cold thing from her nightmares but soft and rich.

"Close enough. My name is Tom Riddle, and it's a pleasure to meet you, little love."

He held a hand out and Ettie took it slowly. As she did, pain shot through her scar and down her spine. Voldemort--Tom Riddle--yelped at the same time she did, the both of them pulling away.

"The crap?"

Riddle's form flickered twice and then collapsed in on itself, leaving a small red headed girl. 

Ginny Weasley's eyes didn't even have time to refocus before Ettie punched her out, all too aware that she couldn't be seen. Weasley fell over, Ebony flying off, and a small black book skittered from her pocket. The Diary. 

Ettie reached for it. A hand closed over her wrist and Ettie hissed and recoiled from the pain in her head.

Weasley sat up, shaking out a hand that Ettie saw was raw with burns. But it was clearly Riddle that spoke through her mouth.

"That was something, now wasn't it?" he said, studying her so intently that Ettie went for a wand that wasn't there. He reached out to touch her again and she scooted away.

"Are you crazy?" Ettie snapped. Riddle grinned.

"You wouldn't be the first to ask. Petrificus totalus." Ettie froze up like a board, only able to consciously move her face.

"Riddle you son of a banahee! Let me up or I swear I'll curse the life out of you!"

He ignored her completely and prodded her leg through her robes. Ettie flinched but her scar barely stung. Next he wrapped a hand around her bare wrist and didn't let go. Pain landed through her skull. Ettie refused to scream, breathing shallowly, but the pain increased by the second. 

She howled and Riddle let go, swearing and nursing his hand. At least it was hurting him too.

"Bastard," she panted. 

In response he touched a single finger to her scar. Ettie wailed and thrashed against the constrains of the spell. She screamed so loud that she felt blood trickle down her throat. 

Images flashed across her eyes--her own prone form, eyes rolling wildly as blood and spittle flew from her lips, a tall blonde man kneeling before her, a room full of broken furniture and old relics, piles of gold and jewels, a dusty old house, coils of scaled skin--and then it was over.

Riddle staggered back.

"Did you see that?" he demanded. Ettie could only gasp helplessly. 

"Tell me!"

"Yes," she wheezed, "you douche, I saw a bunch of stuff!"

"What, exactly?" 

"I saw myself, but like I was you. And--some blond jackass on his knees. A room full of rubbish. Some kind of vault. A dirty room, and then a snake."

"Fascinating," Riddle muttered. "I saw much the same, with the exception of my--well, Ginny's--face instead. It's almost as if..."

He stilled, mouth hanging open just slightly. It would have been comical if not for the manic glint in his eyes. 

"No, but... _Circe_. Potter! Tell me everything you can remember about the night Lord Voldemort tried to kill you. _Now_."

Not being stupid, Ettie obeyed. 

"I...we were in the living room. Lily was on the floor with me and James was making bubbles with his wand. Then the door opened and a man with red eyes came in. Da--James threw a spell at him while Lily grabbed me and ran. She tried to use a Portkey and then apparate but neither worked. She set me down in my crib. It." Ettie had to pause for a slow breath.

"It went quiet downstairs. Mum started crying. She cut her finger with her wand and drew something on my forehead with the blood. Then...then Voldemort came in. He told her to stand aside but she wouldn't. So he killed her. That monster killed my mother."

"And then?" Riddle prompted. She bared her teeth at him.

"And then he turned his wand on me. He said 'Avada Kedavra' and--for a second everything was green. Then...I saw myself, as a baby, like what happened earlier, for just an instant before everything went black."

Riddle rocked back on his heels, eyes unfocused. He looked like someone had pulled the rug out from under his entire existence. 

"Incredible," he whispered. "This changes everything..."

Ettie waited, but Riddle didn't say anything else. She tried to wiggle her fingers but nothing happened.

"Does it change enough that you'll let me up?" she ventured irritably. 

Riddle snapped out of it.

"No," he said candidly. "Definitely not, and possibly never again."

"The crap?!" Ettie began to strain against the spell in earnest. "What is that supposed to mean, you creep?"

"Oh, nothing," Riddle said innocently. Ettie swore at him. He grinned in response and crouched down by her head.

"We really must get started, though. It won't be too terribly long until poor Ginny expires."

And then, because of course it did, everything went black.

...

For the second time in as many days, Minerva watched a small young girl approach the staff table. But where Harriet Potter was prideful and hard, Ginevra Weasley was humble and soft. Every footstep trembled, but when Ginny reached the front of the hall and spoke, her voice was loud and clear.

"Headmistress?" she asked.

"Yes, child?" Minerva answered slowly. She hoped this wasn't a request to keep some other dangerous creature as a pet.

"I--I have something to confess."

Minerva rose from her chair as an interested hush fell over the Hall. "Perhaps this conversation would be better had in my office, Miss Weas--"

"No!" She shook her head vigorously, fiery hair flying out around her. "No, Professor, they deserve to know."

Minerva sat. She had an awful feeling about this, but what could she do? Drag the child out by the ear?

Ginny squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and let it out in a rush of words.

"I'm the Heir of Slytherin."

Instant pandemonium. All four houses burst into excited chatter. Percy Weasley shot wildly to his feet. The Twins called out to their sister. 

"Nice try, Gin, but no dice!"

"Yeah, little sis! Valiant effort for your first prank though!"

Ginny met Minerva's eyes with a terrible, fragile sort of calm. Minerva stood and produced several loud bangs from the end of her wand, as Albus often had.

"Miss Weasley is not finished," Minerva said, somewhat surprised to find her voice perfectly normal. Relative quiet returned with swiftness.

"I'm the Heir of Slytherin. Or, I've been pretending to be. I--I found an old book in my cauldron that taught me how to petrify people and--I didn't mean to! I was just playing around and I didn't think it would work!" 

Here tears built up in her eyes. Ginny took a deep breath and composed herself.

"I was practicing the petrification spell in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom when she saw me and flooded the plumbing. Then Mrs Norris was there and the next thing I know she's frozen on the floor. I suppose I panicked. I, um. I've always been sort of...I mean, I was curious about how other Purebloods live. So I decided to play a prank pretending the Chamber of Secrets was open again. And...it just got out of hand from there."

She peeked up from where she'd been staring at the floor. Tears gushed down pale cheeks.

"You can call the Aurors now, Professor."

...

Ettie was in a cage in her own mind. She walked, talked, and hexed like she always had. She yanked Zabini into a dark corner and told him to enjoy the show before Ginny Weasley confessed at dinner. She sat with the Slytherins and subtly networked like she did it all the time. She walked in on Lockhart about to obliviate a Seventh Year Slytherin boy and cursed him to Hades and back. Then she slipped stolen Veritaserum into his glass in the hospital wing.

Bye bye Lockhart.

That was the only thing Ettie might have done of her own volition.

Days passed as Ettie acted exactly like herself while doing things she never would have done. Like speak to Draco Malfoy, avoid Luna Lovegood at all costs, and smile at another human being. 

Screw Riddle. Granted, the smile was small and vicious and smug, not full of sunshine or whatever it was normal people put in theirs. But still. When she got free she was going to kill him so dead. 

Ettie slipped out of the Ravenclaw dorms unseen under her Cloak, waltzed up to a snake carving she didn't know was there, and entered the Chamber of Secrets right there in the Transfiguration corridor.

Riddle was sitting crosslegged on the damp stone floor, the stupid diary in his lap. He opened his eyes as she approached. Ettie handed over her wand and Cloak and sat across from him.

Abruptly her body was her own again. Ettie sunk her claws into her knees and did not attack. 

"What are you going to do with me."

Riddle smiled slightly. "I'm not going to kill you if that's what you're worried about."

"Oh, good," Ettie said mildly. Then she struck, raking her nails across Riddle's pretty boy face. He cursed her into the far wall, of course, but it was worth it. 

It was worth it when Riddle healed the claw marks to silvery scars and kicked at her newly-broken ribs. It was worth it when he replicated the effect on her own face, with her own wand. It was worth it right up until the point where pressed his pointer finger against her scar and didn't let go, the same seven images flashing through her mind over and over again as she screamed. 

When he finally did let go it took minutes for the white to recede from her vision. She blinked her eyes open to Riddle healing her with brisk movements.

"Let's not do that again, shall we? Little love."

Ettie didn't think she would be physically capable of doing it again, so she agreed in a hoarse whisper. 

"Good. Now write." He threw the diary at her. Ettie slowly pulled herself up, healed ribs creaking.

"Why?" 

Riddle looked mildly surprised. "Well, for the plan to work we can't have Ginny dying of mysterious causes, can we? So I'll go ahead and collect the final bits of strength I need from you."

Ettie clenched her jaw and took the conjured quill from his hand.

"Make it emotional," Riddle advised. "Something you feel strongly about, else we'll be here forever."

Ettie could do that.

'Dear Diary,' Ettie began aggressively, 'I've been kidnapped by this absolute tosser and I'm going to kill him the second I get a chance. His name is Tom Riddle and he's arrogant, cruel, and cowardly. I hate him dearly.'

Riddle let out a startled laugh. Ettie kept writing about all the things she despised: Riddle, the Dursleys, Dumbledore, talkative people, Riddle, social interaction, the Dursleys, bright colors, Dumbledore, and oh yeah, Riddle. 

It wasn't long before Riddle began to glow. Not some prissy white glow either, but a dark purplish red that reminded her of a fresh bruise. 

When the angry light faded, Riddle was...Ettie didn't know how to explain it. He'd been solid before, there, but Ettie was only realising what had been missing now that it wasn't.

First off was his presence alone. There was a pull, a magnetic and very physical force around him that made her want to lean in instead of away. Second came warmth and scent as he crouched down to retrieve the diary. He radiated heat where Ettie expected him to be cold and smelled like spice and wood smoke. 

Riddle grinned down at her, another in a long line of cruel men with lovely smiles, and Ettie's heart dropped into her stomach.

Lord Voldemort was risen. Again.

Did that mean she was screwed twice over?


	3. bite my tongue, bide my time

The last few days of Hogwarts were straight up hell for Ettie. Whatever Riddle was doing to her (she suspected the Imperius Curse and possibly additional compulsions) he did it well enough that no one noticed. Ettie bet Lovegood, with her eerie ability to see straight into the heart of the matter, would have known in an instant. Apparently Riddle knew it too, and didn't let her anywhere near the girl.

Before Ettie knew it, it was summer and she was in the baggage car with a sandwich from Tippy in her hands, Ebony strung across her shoulders, and fetus Voldemort sitting casually across from her. 

"Where are you taking me?" Ettie said. What she really wanted to do was ask if he still planned on the whole not-killing-her thing, but that would sound desperate. She'd asked that morning. Besides, even if he did plan to kill her it wasn't like she could stop him. Unlike the actual Harry Potter, Ettie was a cowardly, weak-minded worm who couldn't resist the Imperius Curse, so.

"You'll see," Riddle replied, watching out the window as Hogwarts disappeared around the bend. If Ettie didn't know better, she would say he looked wistful and a little bit sad.

Wait, did she know better? Did Riddle have real-people feelings? Or was he a genuine, full blown psychopath? Her frightened heart said the latter, but her mind wasn't quite sure. It was a niggling instinct, a wordless whisper that Ettie had come to rely on both in and out of Hogwarts. 

But then, Ettie mused, it hardly mattered. Whether insane, sane, or somewhere in between, she was at his mercy. A terrible and familiar place to be for her. When would she be the one in control of her own life, dammit?

Ettie leaned her head against the wall, letting the bump and rattle drown out her thoughts. Ebony hissed a protest as his long body was pinned between the back of her neck and the train wall. She pulled him into her lap instead.

~You're awfully entitled for a little traitor,~ she muttered, stroking his head. Any illusions of a loyal, trustworthy animal sidekick had died in the Chamber when Ebony fled instead of helping her. Apparently he was helpless to attack another speaker, even one who hadn't claimed him. 

"He's not a traitor," Riddle said. "Just pragmatic."

"He's not even that; he's just an animal," Ettie corrected. "A talking one or not. They're not going to give up their lives for some random two-leg."

"Dogs are animals, and they die for people all the time."

"Yeah, well dogs are stupid, aren't they," she shot back. Riddle smirked, twirling his wand like a drummer.

Ettie looked away. She did that too. It was disconcerting to share a habit with the man who killed her p--who killed the Potters.  
  
"You've noticed," said Riddle with quiet delight. She glanced up sharply.

"What?" she snapped.

"The similarities," he said, scooting closer. His eyes were alive with that manic fascination again. "Between the two of us. You can't have known, but they are immense."

"How so?" Ettie asked, curious despite herself. 

"Halfbloods, orphans, Parselmouths, outcasts," he listed. "And that's just on the surface! We share habits, physical and verbal. We're liars and selfish and cruel when we need to be. We can't stand fools. We look out for ourselves first, a chosen few second, and everybody else never. Merlin, we even look similar!"

Ettie swallowed as he spoke, now seeing all those things and more. And they did look something alike--dark hair, unnaturally pale skin, strange eyes. Their features were too sharp, hollow in a way healthy children's shouldn't be.

"Yeah, well, at least I'm not a kidnapper," she mumbled, discomfited. 

"I think Zabini might disagree," Riddle snickered. Ettie felt the absolutely ridiculous urge to stick her tongue out at him. This was the douche that tortured her! That kidnapped her! That mind-controlled her! One does not simply stick their tongue out at torturing, mind-controlling kidnappers! 

Ettie leaned back decisively against the wall. She was not going to think about it. She wasn't. 

Somewhere between the rumble of the train, Riddle's steady breaths and her aggressive not-thinking, Ettie fell asleep.

She woke sometime later to Riddle's wand tapping her on the forehead. Ettie had her own wand jabbing into his stomach in seconds. He had the gall to seem amused, and Ettie was tempted to hex him for it. But he wasn't Zabini and she wasn't stupid, so she lowered her weapon. Riddle did the same.

"We've arrived. Get up and follow me."

...He had her damn snake again.

But Ettie, leery of getting brainwashed for a second time, decided to do as she was asked. She had a moment of confusion when she couldn't see her own body before she realized it was Riddle's doing. He vanished under her Invisibility Cloak. 

How the hell was she supposed to--oh crap! Ettie's feet stumbled forward as she was tugged around the middle as if by an invisible rope. Swearing under her breath, she followed the pulling sensation, sliding in between reuniting families and friends saying goodbye.

Riddle led them all the way to an unfortunately familiar blond tosser and his equally blond parents. Ettie blinked. She recognized the man. He was the one kneeling in that first _vision_...! She was so dead!

Ettie lunged for the exit but the bindings around her waist grew taut. She dug her feet uselessly into the ground as Riddle reeled her back in. Her hand raised itself and rested on Lucius Malfoy's arm. He looked down so swiftly she almost thought she imagined it, and apparated.

Ettie's legs, suddenly visible, slammed into the ground. She barely kept her balance, and her lunch, for that matter. Ettie wrenched herself away from Malfoy Sr and looked around. Riddle emerged from under her Cloak, smirking.

The blonde lady seized baby Malfoy and began steering him out of the room. He gaped at her over his shoulder.

Shit. Shitty shit shit. 

"Harriet Potter," a high, cold voice said. Ettie wanted to burst into tears, to curse him, to run as fast and far as she could. She settled for not passing out as Lord Voldemort glided down the marble stairs. Black robes floated around him. He was hairless and so pale his veins stood out like rivers of blue. His face glared out at her flat and serpentine; bloody red eyes glowed from the depths of his ghostly face.

Strangely enough, Ettie felt a thread of relief under all the terror. Here, she thought, was someone who was a monster and looked it too. 

"It's polite to return a greeting, little love," Riddle tutted, as if disappointed with her manners. 

Ettie couldn't look away from death coming towards her, but her mouth moved on its own.

"Lord Voldemort," she whispered. 

Voldemort came to a stop several feet away. It was still too close, and Ettie found herself inching backwards. Malfoy clamped an iron hand down on her shoulder. 

Red eyes, so much brighter than Riddle's, seemed to pierce right through her, laying out everything she was to be dissected at his leisure.

"You may leave us, Lucius." 

The blond man bowed low and left the same way his wife and son went. Then it was just Ettie and a pair of Voldemorts. She was trembling and usually Ettie would hate herself for showing weakness, but she was too frightened to be prideful.

"She doesn't look like much," Voldemort remarked disdainfully.

"Neither did we," Riddle replied.

"Mm, perhaps. Well girl, how do you feel about a duel?" 

Ettie stood there numbly. Riddle sighed and Voldemort curled his lip. And suddenly, Ettie was furious. She didn't want to die. She didn't, but she would. And she'd wake up again in another dead end life with all the odds stacked against hee. But by Merlin she would make this tool suffer before she went.

Ettie whipped out her wand and shot a skull-breaking curse directly at Voldemort's head; she threw herself into a rolling dodge and something hot rushed past her ear, burning her hair. 

Voldemort shot a few lazy curses at her, wicked fast even when he clearly wasn't trying. Ettie rolled and ducked and slid, leaping into a near split once to avoid a twin pair of hexes. Her left arm was broken, blood ran down her face, and her ribs screamed with pain. It had been less than a minute.

She was going to die. And yet...Ettie had never felt so alive.

Just as Ettie was finding a rhythm, the floor beneath her turned to ice. Snape had already pulled that one. Instead of fighting for balance, Ettie dropped onto her back and used a blast of magic to propel her directly towards Voldemort. Such a thing was the height of idiocy, which is why she got away with it. 

Ettie rammed straight into his left leg with both feet. She felt his knee crunch and Voldemort started to fall. Ettie went in for the kill, desperate hope blooming in her chest. 

That hope was crushed a second later when Voldemort tucked into a graceful side roll of his own, healed his leg _while rolling_ , and then disarmed her with a silent flick of his wand.

Ettie panted on the floor. Fear was returning but anger lingered still, leaving her a half-wild mess of emotion as she scrambled painfully to her feet. Voldemort let her, watching with growing interest.

"It is no small thing, to duel against the Dark Lord," Voldemort said. "Many thrice your age have failed to last so long."

"You weren't even trying," Ettie said, wishing she could have spat the words. Instead they came out shaky and quiet. 

"No," Voldemort agreed almost kindly. The tone made a chilling contrast with his monstrous appearance and eyes of cold fire.

"Are you going to kill me now?"

"We shall see." He turned abruptly and began to walk up the stairs. "Follow."

Following the homicidal Dark Lord into the creepy mansion was the last thing Ettie wanted to do. But again, she wasn't stupid. She followed, falling into step with Riddle, who still had her snake. To his credit, Ebony appeared worried for her.

~The speaker is hurt!~ Ebony fretted, trying to slither from Riddle's shoulders to her's. ~Do you want me to bite the attacker? I will kill him slowly for hurting my speaker!~

~She is not the only speaker here, little serpent,~ Voldemort said without turning around. Ebony fell immediately silent.  
  
Ettie swallowed down the faint sting of betrayal, muffled under layers of pain, fear and anger. Ebony was only an animal, after all.

"In," Voldemort said, stopping in front of wide double doors. Riddle reached forward and pushed them open, walking in like he owned the place. Ettie slid in sideways, not willing to expose her back to Voldemort, for all the difference it would make. 

She narrowed her eyes at the elegant tea room she found. What the hell was Voldemort playing at?

"Sit."

Ettie, with her broken arm and bloody face, felt that she was much too dirty to even look at the velvet cushioned chairs around the table. So naturally she sat down as indolently as possible, going as far as to deliberately wipe the blood from her fingers on her seat.

Riddle huffed a laugh and she looked over to see he had taken the exact same lazy sprawl as she had. Ettie immediately sat up, scowling. A silibant chuckle made her flinch.

"Perhaps you are one of us after all."

"One of us?" Ettie repeated. "What does that mean?"

"You may live to find out." Voldemort's lips lifted in a nearly nonexistent smirk. Riddle didn't bother to hide his.

"I will heal you now," Voldemort said, raising his wand. In seconds the deep ache of broken bones and sharp sting of cuts faded away. Ettie let out a shaky breath. Was this the part where they healed her so she could be in good shape for torture? 

"Tea?"

After a brief pause, Ettie nodded jerkily.

"Sugar?"

"...Yeah."

"Milk?"

"Ah, no thanks." Ettie couldn't believe the words had come out of her mouth. She'd just thanked Lord Voldemort. Over tea. What the hell. 

Ettie slowly picked up her prepared teacup, sure it was drugged, but not knowing what with. Poison? Truth serum? 

"Drink," Voldemort ordered softly. Slowly, Ettie did. It tasted good? Ettie had never really had tea except when she was sick, Before. This tea was much better than that tea. She relaxed into the soft cushions.

"What did you put in it?" she asked curiously, taking another sip. Tingling warmth spread from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. "Because I am definitely drugged right now."

Merlin knew she was familiar enough with the sensation.

"Draught of Peace, I'd say," Riddle said, leaning forward. 

"Indeed," Voldemort said. "The...poor child will be going through quite an ordeal. I thought it only reasonable to ensure it won't scar her too badly, should she turn out to be what you think."

Then they sat for a while, finishing their tea. Voldemort and Riddle didn't seem to have anything 'special' in theirs, which Ettie didn't think was fair. 

"You should have some too," she said, offering her tea cup to Voldemort, who sat on her left. "It's very floaty. Nice."

"No, child. Thank you." Voldemort sounded amused and Ettie grinned at him, pleased she could do that much at least.

"You mixed it with Euphoria," Riddle said, ignoring the cup she presented to him. "And...powdered flutterleaf?"

"Euphoria and pixie dust, actually."

Riddle frowned. "That can be dangerous, can't it? We don't want to give her brain damage." 

Ettie waved the tea cup under his nose and still Riddle ignored her.

"It is a small amount," Voldemort dismissed. "Her magic is strong. The girl will be fine."

"Riddle," Ettie whined. 

"What, Potter?"

"Do you want some?"

He sighed. "No, little love, though I thank you for the offer. This tea is special. It's just for you."

Ooh. Ettie glanced wide eyed down at her cup. It was a pretty violet color. She drained the rest in one go.

"All done!" she chirped, slamming the tea cup down and possibly chipping the edge.

"Very good," Voldemort chuckled as he stood. "Come, Harriet."

Ettie frowned. "That's not me. I mean, it is, but it's not _me_."

Both Voldemort and Riddle seemed to understand this. 

"Then what is you?" 

"Ettie," she revealed. "But nobody else knows so you can't tell, okay?"

Voldemort chuckled again. "Very well, Ettie."

She felt a little thrill go down her spine. She hadn't heard anyone else say her name in so long. Not since the Before, and even then everyone but Maisie and her awful brother called her Bridgett. 

Ettie followed Voldemort through grand, gothic halls full of pale blonde portraits. Riddle brought up the rear, twirling his wand boredly.

A thought struck her.

"Hey Riddle? Where'd you get that wand? It isn't Weasley's."

"Lockhart," Riddle replied. "He won't be needing it in Azkaban."

Ettie turned back to the front, nodding. That made sense. 

Voldemort led the way down several flights of stairs into a large room with no windows. Candles, hundreds of them if not thousands, lined the walls.

Voldemort levitated a plain, undyed cotton robe first to her, then another to Riddle. Riddle began stripping without shame.

"Don't look," Ettie demanded. Riddle rolled his eyes and turned away and Voldemort was busy examining the symbols painted all over the flat stone floor, so Ettie quickly changed into the robe. She bounced on her toes as they waited for Voldemort to finish his inspection. 

"Everything is in order," he said. "Boy, you know what you do. Girl, come here."

She went. Voldemort directed her to stand just so inside a pentagon filled with funny writing she felt like she recognized but couldn't make out. Riddle stood right across from her, barely a foot away inside another pentagon.

"Are you sacrificing us to the devil?" Ettie asked interestedly. 

"No child, nothing so dramatic. Now, you must be very silent, do you understand? Once the ritual starts you can't say a word, no matter how much it hurts."

"Why don't you just silence me?"

"No spell would survive long once we are underway. Can you keep quiet, Ettie? And still?"

"Yes sir," she said automatically.

"Very well. We will begin now."

He reached out and drew a knife across her right palm, then her left. Ettie winced, but she'd had much worse. Voldemort turned to Riddle and did the same to him with a different knife. 

The strangest thing happened. As Ettie watched, her dripping blood began to follow the path of the painted runes. As the first sequences of characters was filled with blood, her hands and arms began to burn. Ettie glanced down, careful not to move her head. As she watched, the runes etched themselves into the skin of her forearms in thin, delicate slashes.

That was a little creepy.

Ettie watched as the writing crawled up past the short sleeves of her robe, wetting the fabric. As it inched across her collarbone and over the backs of her shoulders, more lines began on the tops of her feet, up her shins and calves, over her thighs and bottom and _damn_ that hurt.

Her breathing started to come in shallow gasps as the lines covering her stomach and chest met the ones curling over her shoulder blades. She closed her eyes as they crept up her neck and jaw, but exhaled in shaky relief when they stopped there.

That wasn't so bad.

Then the pain hit like a truck. Ettie couldn't have stopped herself from screaming if she tried. There was so much pain that it was impossible to tell what hurt. Or maybe everything did. Ettie ran out of air to scream. She struggled to draw a new breath.

In the midst of being perhaps literally flayed alive came the worst feeling of violation Ettie had ever experienced. It was so far beyond physical; something was reaching into her essence, her soul! 

She fought. Of course she did; no one was allowed to _take her soul_! No one! But whatever was reaching inside her was too strong. She was pinned inside her own head, fighting tooth and claw as the presence reached for a specific part of her and _pulled_.

Agony lanced through her being. There was nothing but the pain and violation for a small eternity. Then, there was nothing at all.

...

Tom crashed to his knees among glowing runes as Potter began to scream. Thank Merlin the delicate bit was done or they both would have ruined the whole damn thing. 

He watched as she choked on air, writhing uselessly on the ground, striking eyes wide and unseeing. Would it work? The ritual had confirmed her to be a horcrux just by progressing as it had, but could they extract the soul shard? The longer the runes pulsed and Potter screamed, the more convinced he became that the answer was no.

Just as Tom decided to yell at his idiot older self to interrupt the ritual before he killed their horcrux, the entire thing flashed brightly and went dark. Potter stopped fighting. 

Voldemort was at her side in a whirl of dark robes. Tom struggled to his feet.

"Will she live?" he demanded.

"She will," Voldemort confirmed, wand flying as he called up various diagnostic readings. "But she needs a proper healer. I'm summoning Lucius. Tell him to call Healer Selwyn immediately."

Tom nodded and made his way to the door as fast as he could. Decently fast, considering he had runes carved into all sorts of uncomfortable places. 

It wasn't long before Lucius appeared, hair faintly mussed. "Where is my Lord?" 

"Fetch Healer Selwyn," Tom ordered. 

"Boy--"

They didn't have time for this. Tom reached out with his magic, virtually identical to Voldemort's, and shoved Lucius into the wall.

" _Now_ ," he snarled. 

Lucius ran to do as he was told, leaving Tom to lean against the doorjam and watch as one part of his soul fought to keep another part from slipping into oblivion.

...

Draco's life, solely in the last few weeks, had been turned upside down. It all started summer after First Year, when suddenly an entire wing of the Manor was forbidden to him and Mother was always worried and Father was running off at all hours of the day.

Now, summer after Second Year, Draco suddenly knew why, and that was the catalyst for every change imaginable. The Dark Lord had returned and Draco's parents were some of the only people in the world who knew it. More than that, the Dark Lord was residing in their Manor while he planned. 

And then there was the matter of Potter. Draco had never known what to think about her. She was small and angry and hexed him whenever he annoyed her, but she was also a Parselmouth and either the Heir of Slytherin or running a spectacular bluff worthy of respect in any case. 

Draco didn't want her dead. It felt like treason just thinking it, but Draco knew it was true no matter how many times he told himself the will of the Dark Lord was supreme. He didn't particularly want anyone to die, even stupid Granger with her buck teeth and know-it-all head and self-righteous law breaking.

Well scratch that. He wouldn't care if the muggles all died, but they were muggles. Not actual people.

The door to the breakfast hall swung open and Draco firmly flattened the scowl that wanted to escape. 

"Good morning, Draco," the annoyance drawled smoothly, taking a seat directly across from him, as if there weren't tons other spots readily avaliable.

"Riddle," Draco greeted, barely managing a cordial nod.

Tom Riddle. The Parselmouth with a muggle name. The teenager at the right hand of the Dark Lord. The insufferable prat who could and did boss Draco's father around.

Draco really, really hated him. Unfortunately, as it was more than likely Riddle was the Dark Lord's son or some other close relation, hating him wasn't exactly a risk-free activity. So Draco had to be polite or else get his head blown off.

"How are you this morning?" Draco asked after a short pause. 

Riddle shot him a look and a smirk. "Fantastic. And you?"

"I'm quite well, thank you," Draco responded, irked at Riddle's flippant attitude and the fact that he couldn't return it. If the Dark Lord didn't kill him his Mother would. 

"I'm glad," Riddle said with blatant insincerity. That stupid smirk had yet to go away. Draco gave him another nod and went back to eating his breakfast tart as fast as he could without looking like he was rushing.

Riddle just plucked a few grapes from the bowl on the table and rolled them between his pale fingers. His face, despite the smirk, seemed troubled and his frightening eyes were far away. It wasn't difficult to guess what he was thinking about.

"How is she?" Draco blurted out. 

Riddle sharpened to attention, eyes narrowing. Draco went still as magic started to swirl around them, heavy and dark. 

"What's it to you?" Riddle asked. The uncouth words sounded smooth and proper coming from his mouth.

"Nothing. Forgive me, it was only curiosity," Draco managed.

"Mm. Do you get curious about things that don't concern you often, little Malfoy?"

"I--no. I'm sorry."

Riddle held his gaze. Draco's heart started to pound. For a second he thought he was a dead man, but then Riddle relaxed abruptly in his chair. He flung an arm over the backrest and crossed one leg over the other.

"She might never wake up," Riddle said as if remarking on the weather. It took Draco a second to realize he was talking about Potter.

"Really? That's--" Draco cleared his throat. "That's excellent news, I suppose. Pity she's not dead ye--"

And then Draco was flying across the room because apparently wishing death on the Girl-Who-Lived was not what the maybe-son of the Dark Lord wanted to hear.

"Draco!" his Mother cried, choosing the exact wrong moment to enter the room. Draco was too busy gasping for breath that wouldn't come to respond.

"What did you do to my son," she demanded, cradling Draco's head in her lap.

"He's only winded," Riddle said coldly, magic sparking around him. "Far better than he would have been should the Dark Lord have heard him running his mouth."

And then he strode from the room, leaving Draco to the wrath of a worried mother. 

"Dragon," Mother said, soft and gentle. "Here love, let's get you up."

She helped him into sitting position and stroked his hair. Draco managed to take a small breath as she rubbed his back. Unfortunately, with breathing came tears, shameful little things that squeezed from the corners of his eyes. 

"I'm sorry," Draco mumbled. "I--I'm sorry. I didn't know!"

"Didn't know what, dearest?"

"I thought that--since he's close with the Dark Lord--that he would want Potter dead. So, so I said it was a pity she wasn't, and then he _cursed me_ , Mama!"

"Oh dragon," Mother breathed, holding him close. "I'm the one who should be sorry. You couldn't have known, love."

"So tell me!" he yelled.

Mother raised a stern eyebrow and Draco ducked his head, feigning regret. She smoothed a thumb over his cheek in forgiveness. 

"The Dark Lord has decreed that should she wake or not, no harm is to come to Harriet Potter. Clearly young Mr Riddle has taken those words to heart."

Draco shook his head. "But why? She's the Girl-Who-Lived!"

"I don't know exactly why, dragon, but I suspect it may have something to do with the fact that she is a young female Parselmouth close to the age of his...protege."

"Oh," Draco said. He hadn't even thought of that. It would make sense though. But...

"How can Riddle treat us like this?" he whispered. "We're Malfoys! He's just a--"

"Just an incredibly powerful, dangerous young man with the ear of the Dark Lord, Draco," Mother said firmly. "Do not cross him. Please, dragon, for my sake if not your own."

"Very well, Mother. For you," Draco said. Mother's face softened into a smile and she leaned down to kiss his forehead.

"Thank you dearest. Now, let's get you presentable before you father comes down for breakfast, hm?"

...

Ettie woke up slowly, and the first thing she saw was Voldemort's comfortingly monstrous face. She considered him for a moment, oddly at peace. Probably drugged again. 

"Are you gonna kill me?" she asked hoarsely. 

"No," Voldemort said. "You are safe here."

"Truth?" Ettie said solemnly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's the truth game. I say 'truth' and if you say it back, you're not lying. If you say 'lie', you are."

"That is the most asinine, ineffectual thing I've heard of."

Ettie grinned. "That's what you think. But it's a chance to come clean without the other person being allowed to get mad. So, truth?"

"I refuse to participate in this display of childishness," he sneered.

"Then I don't believe you and will try to escape accordingly," Ettie decided.

"If you value your little friends, you won't," Voldemort said, as if that was the ultimate threat. Ettie pouted.

"I'm not a Gryffindor, Voldemort. I'll still run. So, truth?"

"...Truth. You pathetic brat." Then his red eyes widened minutely. Ettie gasped in delight.

"You can feel it too?!"

"It's a genuine ritual," Voldemort murmured. "It must have been passed down in your bloodline for generations to gain true meaning."

"Since my fifth great grandma," Ettie agreed, sitting up in bed. Belatedly she examined her arms. The thousands of tiny cuts had faded into scars so faint she could barely see them.

"I was not aware that the Potters practiced rituals." Voldemort frowned, as if offended by his own lack of knowledge.

"It was my mum's side actually."

"Your mother, the mudblood? I sincerely doubt it."

"It's true!" Ettie chirped. "Ask me, go on."

He sneered delicately. "Truth?"

"Truth! See?"

Voldemort flicked out his tongue as if scenting the air. "Indeed. Not so mudblooded after all."

Then, without the slightest hint of warning or hint to what he was about to do, Voldemort reached out and cupped her face, holding her still as his other hand pressed to her scar. Her vision went white. Ettie didn't even realize she was screaming until she ran out of air. And the pain just didn't stop. He wouldn't let go!

Ettie must have blacked out again, because the next thing she knew, Tom Riddle was standing in front of her bed, facing off against his older self. 

"--told her she was safe here," he was saying.

"And she is," Voldemort dismissed. "Safe from death and permanent injury."

"Oh, of _course_. Very comforting to her, I'm sure."

"And what of it?"

"The girl is resourceful. Should an opportunity for escape present itself, I for one would prefer her not running off to get discovered by Dumbledore."

"She won't escape, foolish boy."

"You're powerful, not all-knowing, and the girl is supposedly a Seer. Anything is possible--"

She heard the sizzle and pained hiss of someone getting hexed.

Ettie closed her eyes and drifted away again, far from the pain pulsing through her forehead and the dangerous men arguing over her sick bed.

...

The next time Ettie woke up, she finally felt like herself. She immediately sat up, searching for her wand, which she found on the bedside table. She scanned the room for threats, seeing nothing but furnishings of rich, dark colors and velvets. No people.

She climbed out of bed, pausing to allow her swimming head to clear. Ettie gritted her teeth when she saw that she had been changed into a high-necked black lace nightgown. 

She stalked towards the door, wand at the ready, and flung it open. In the room beyond, Voldemort and Riddle looked up with the same look of detached but intense interest, as if she were a dead lab specimen who suddenly got up and started walking.

"Good morning, Ettie," Voldemort drawled. 

"Don't call me that," Ettie spat. "You don't have the right!"

"If not me, then who?" He had the balls to sound amused, like she was a toddler throwing a fit.

"Nobody alive, that's who!" she said. 

Riddle stepped towards her. "How are you feeling?"

He didn't ask the question like he actually cared; it was a scientist's curiosity.

"Like someone tried to pull my brain out through my nose. And then set me on fire," Ettie admitted readily. "What are you going to do with me?"

"Keep you safe," Voldemort replied. Some definition of safe he had.

"Why?"

"You're a Seer, are you not?" he said.

"It's more than that. You said you were testing whether I was 'one of you'. Am I? Is that why I'm not dead?"

Voldemort studied her. "You are."

"And what does that mean," she pressed.

"It means we will keep you safe...for a given definition of safe," Riddle said, a faint line of irritation between his brows. "You will not by killed, by us or anything else."

"That's comforting," Ettie said, sarcastically but truthfully. They wouldn't kill her, and she was used to being hurt.  
  
They stood there silently for a moment, the two Voldemorts dissecting her with their gazes. It probably should have been...awkward? Unnerving? Scary? But mostly it felt freakishly familiar, like she did this all the time.

"And what does that mean for me, keeping me safe, practically speaking?" Ettie asked, shaking off the strange sensation.

"It means you will be with either myself, Tom, or one of my followers at all times. You will reside here until a safe house is prepared, and then you and Tom will move there, though this will not be for some months."

No more Dursleys, no more Care Centers! Too bad it came at the cost of allying with the man who murdered her only chance at a happy life.

"What about Hogwarts? Can I go back?" Because no matter how aggravating the occupants were, Ettie loved the castle. And she didn't think staying year-round with a Dark Lord would be good for her health.

"It is a possibility," Voldemort said, "contingent on whether or not you killed Quirinus Quirrel."

Crap. Why did she not predict Voldemort would be pissed that she killed the one who brought him back to life? 

Ettie thought about lying, but with the truth ritual tied to her bloodline, it would be impossible to pull off. She raised her chin and met Voldemort's burning eyes.

"I did kill him. And I'm not sorry."

To her utmost surprise, both Riddle and Voldemort smirked.

"Very good," Voldemort all but purred. "Sit down, Ettie, and let me tell you how I survived death."

And Ettie was so desperately curious to learn the literal secrets of eternal life that she didn't even bristle when he called her by her true name. She went and sat, across from Voldemort and next to Riddle.

"First, you must swear an oath on your magic never to reveal what you learn here," Voldemort commanded. Ettie wasn't surprised. The secrets of immortality were worth making one of the most dangerous oaths a witch could make. 

She did so.

"Good girl. Now, do you know what a horcrux is?" he said. Ettie frowned.

"It rings a bell, but no," she admitted. All she knew about horcruxes was that Harry Potter went on a hunt for them in which Ronald ditched him. _So_ helpful. Thanks a bunch, Internet.

"I expected as much. The art of the horcrux is rare and ancient, known only to me in this current age. A horcrux is, to put in simply, a piece of soul that one removes from the whole and places into an object, rendering the soul incapable of moving on to oblivion."

Ettie's eyes went wide. A bit of soul in an object—the diary. She looked at Riddle. He nodded once.

She thought about the images that flashed through her mind when either of them touched her scar. Thought about the words 'one of us'. Thought about how they promised not to kill her.

As if in a dream, Ettie reached up and touched her forehead.

"But why," she began shakily. 

"You were not intentional," Voldemort said. "One splits their soul through killing. The night I killed your parents and my body was destroyed, I assume a portion of my soul was destabilized and latched onto the nearest living thing. You."

Ettie thought she was going to be sick, mostly because she was considering it, making one. She would do anything not to be reincarnated into another hellish life.

"Do," she stopped to clear her throat, "do you have books on the topic?"

"Of course," Voldemort said gracefully, triumph in his eyes. 

"I'd like to read them before making a decision."

"I expected nothing less."

...

Ettie curled on her bed with one book, several translated scrolls and a boatload of handwritten notes, feeling increasingly like she was going throw up. 

It was looking like killing was the least offensive part of making a horcrux. The things she would have to do--it wasn't worth it. If she ever saw Maisie again, she wanted to be able to look her baby sister in the eye. 

Ettie closed the book, appropriately titled _Magick Moste Evile._ She rolled up the scrolls and tucked the notes inside the 'evile' tome. Horcruxes were a no from her.

Now how to tell Voldemort without getting tortured...

...

Ettie howled, writhing on the floor as Voldemort snarled down at her and Riddle sat in the corner, fingers tapping on the cover of the book he was pretending to read. 

The curse lifted and Ettie slumped down, limbs jittery with aftershocks of the Cruciatus. 

"Either you make a horcrux or find some other way to become immortal, or I will put you in an enchanted sleep for the rest of eternity. You have three days to decide."

And then he swept off to torture some other twelve year old into committing atrocities.

Riddle, his hands now covered in black leather gloves, helped Ettie to a chair and wordlessly handed her a glass of water.

"Why are you being so nice?" she croaked. "Voldemort is part of you."

"Exactly," he said, sharp but oddly subdued. "He's a part of me, just as you are a part of him."

Realization dawned slowly, a fact that she blamed on the torture. "And if he can do it to me, he can do it to you."

Riddle nodded, gaze far away. Ettie watched him and comprehended, for the first time, that this was a sixteen year old boy. Only a year older than Maisie had been when Ettie died. And yet...

"How could you stand it?" Ettie blurted.

Riddle's eyes refocused. "What?"

"Making a horcrux. How could you do something like that?"

"I'm a psychopath," Riddle said easily--too easily. "I don't feel your pesky human emotions."

Ettie didn't need the truth game to know he was lying. 

"Bull. I may not know you all that well, but I know psychopaths, and you ain't it."

Not like her Before brother. Now there was a bona fide nutcase. Riddle was just as sane as she was...possibly slightly more so. _Slightly_. 

Riddle looked like he was about to argue but changed his mind.

"Fine," he said grudgingly. "I'm no doctor, but from what I've read it's more likely I have borderline anti-social personality disorder."

"Come again?" asked Ettie, who had never studied psychology.

Riddle rolled his eyes. "It means I'm almost mad, but not quite."

"Got it," Ettie nodded, "but you can't deflect me. How could you stomach making a horcrux?"

"I'm just not as weak as you," he sneered. "I was willing to do what I had to." 

"You're still deflecting," Ettie said flatly.

"And you're using this conversation to distract yourself from the fact that you've just been tortured and are about to be stuck in a glass coffin for the rest of a very long life."

"Glass coffin?" Ettie blinked, refusing to acknowledge that he was right. Him being right meant her having a mental breakdown and that was just a no.

"Of course! Probably at the top of a tower too, if I know myself at all."

"...Okay. But back to the topic at hand."

Riddle swore under his breath. "You're like a dog with a bone, you know that Potter?"

"I did know that. So how did you make a horcrux without immediately regretting it, throwing up, and mending your soul?"

For a second Ettie thought Riddle would either curse her or just walk away. But he just sighed.

"Occlumency," he said, "is the art of protecting the mind against both external and internal threats. The emotions associated with making a horcrux were a threat to my immortality, so I used Occlumency to...distance myself, I suppose you could say, from those feelings."

"So you basically dissociated?" Ettie guessed.

"Yes. Though I don't understand how you know about dissociation but not anti-social personality disorder."

She just shrugged. All she knew was what the Internet told her about herself. Dissociation was something Ettie was intimately familiar with--she was probably doing it right now, in fact.

"What are the chances of me learning to dissociate on command in the next three days?" Ettie asked, not at all hopeful. 

"Nonexistent," Riddle said, confirming her suspicions. "But I'll try to convince Voldemort to wake you up in a hundred years or so, Sleeping Beauty."

He got up and started to walk away.

"Wait!" Ettie called, desperation leaking into her voice. "What about another type of immortality?"

"What? Like vampirism? You can still be killed. Unicorn blood? It curses you with a half life. The Elixir of Life? You'll die if you don't take it every day. None of them are sustainable!" Riddle ran a hand through his neat hair, messing it up.

"But Voldemort has the Philosopher's Stone!" she yelled. "Couldn't he figure something out?"

"Oh sure, given several years and the inclination to do so!" Riddle retorted. "Neither of which he has!"

Ettie thought frantically. A ludicrous idea hit her and she grasped at it in a panic.

"You said the Elixir of Life has to be taken daily, right? And it comes from the Stone, doesn't it? Well, what if I just swallowed the thing?"

" _Swallowed_ the-?" Riddle stopped. Tilted his head to the side. "Huh."

Hope hit like a bus. "Would it work?"

"Not if you _actually_ swallowed it, obviously," Riddle said as he tore through the study for a parchment and quill. "But if it were inserted into your stomach...Elixir is created by channelling magic through the Stone...if you could direct it to your stomach in the right way--no, scratch that, it would have to be runes...hm."

Ettie sat quietly as Riddle scribbled out notes in English and runic languages, trying not to cry out of sheer relief. 

"This might actually work," Riddle said some time later, ink splattered on his hands and across his cheek. 

She really did cry then.

...

Ettie and Riddle--should she call him Tom? He did potentially just save her butt--stood in front of Voldemort's desk as he read through Tom's extensive notes at an almost frightening speed. She felt the strangest urge to reach out and grab Tom's hand, just for something to hold. She strangled the impulse.

Torturing, kidnapping mind-controllers do not make for good hand holding partners! Not even when they stood up against Voldemort for her and stayed up for three days straight working to keep her from BS eternal sleep and looked almost as nervous as she felt right now--

No. Bad Ettie. Torture. Kidnapping. Mind control. She kept her hands to herself.

A few minutes later, Voldemort looked up. 

"So?" Ettie asked after a long silence, voice loud in the still air.

"...Very well. I will consult with Healer Selwyn about the operation."

He gathered up the notes and swept from the room. Ettie and Tom looked at each other. 

"You did it," she said stupidly.

"I did it," Tom agreed, a grin stealing across his face, a _true_ grin, not one of those well crafted, lovely fake things. Happiness made him seem less beautiful, somehow: it sharpened his features into something dangerous instead of angelic, flawed instead of perfect. His smile rose higher on one side, giving him a slightly crazed look. He had a dimple on the other side, which only made it more lopsided.

And for the first time since she'd met the beautiful, deadly boy, Ettie's heart skipped a beat. She did something she hadn't done in a long time.

She smiled back.

...

Tom watched as Ettie emerged from the ladies room, clad in cotton trousers and a half shirt that bared her stomach for the surgery. Her face was as blank as usual, but her magic betrayed her nerves as it hummed in the air. 

She glanced in his direction, likely unconsciously seeking support. She had gotten attatched in the past week, only natural as he saved her from an empty eternity of dreamless sleep. Which was, of course, all part of the plan. He softened his expression a hair. Ettie looked away, her magic settling slightly. 

"Drink this now, Miss Potter," Selwyn instructed, handing her the sedative potion. She downed it quickly, the faintest wrinkle of disgust to her nose. Selwyn guided her to the bed, where poison green eyes drifted stubbornly closed.

"The Stone please, my Lord." The Healer bowed. Voldemort handed it to him, runes carved into the glistening ruby surface. 

Selwyn took the Stone in one hand. With the other he tapped Ettie's exposed stomach. The pale flesh rippled and smoothed out of the way, a gaping hole opening up in her belly. Curious, Tom leaned forward to watch, making sure not to breach the ward that kept vulnerable insides from infection.

Selwyn took the sterilized Stone, levitated it into the small sack of acid that humans called a stomach, and closed up the hole. 

Now all they had left to do was wait and make sure the runes did their job of anchoring and acclimating the Stone to her body and magic. They already knew the timed release for the Elixir was fully functional. 

"An excellent job as usual, Philip," Voldemort said. 

"Thank you, my Lord. It is an honor to serve."

Voldemort dismissed him, leaving the two of them to stand over their horcrux. 

"She's not what I expected," Tom said. 

"Indeed."

"I certainly hope you do not put her to sleep. She could be useful in the war."

"And beyond that?"

"There is always a need for loyal supporters," Tom said. "Fundamentally, the girl just wants to be safe. If you provide that, she'll follow you anywhere."

"We shall see," Voldemort hummed, and they continued their vigil in silence.

...

When Ettie woke up, it was to the sensation of being just shy of uncomfortably full, as if she'd eaten one bite too many at Christmas dinner. 

She sat up, one hand going to her stomach. If she pressed hard enough she could feel it, a small hard lump in her belly. It was disconcerting but not overtly noticeable if she wasn't focusing on it.

Ettie looked up and met Tom's brown-bordering-on-red eyes as she slid out of bed, testing her balance and finding it excellent.

"I half expected never to wake up," she admitted. 

"I'm sure he considered it," Tom said, holding the door open for her like the gentleman he wasn't. "But you're more useful awake. For now."

Ettie considered that foreboding statement and decided that the most appropriate response was to do a cartwheel down the hallway, robes flapping.

"...And you've turned into a circus freak why?" Tom asked dryly.

"I need to make sure the Stone won't impeede my agility in a duel," she said, falling into an easy back walk over. It was a little uncomfortable, but not like flipping around with a traditionally full stomach would.

Ettie paused to shed her outer robes for the tunic and leggings underneath, cheekily tossing them to Tom. He draped them over a nearby potted tree without pause or shame. She started a more daring series of acrobatics, her foot clipping something brittle and hollow. 

Ceramic shattered just as a skinny blond figure rounded the corner up ahead. Baby Malfoy yelped. 

"Oops," Ettie said, nudging a shard with her foot. Then she shrugged and kept walking, because this family was A) crazy rich and B) participated in her kidnapping. They could repair their own vase.

...

Draco let out a soft noise of surprise as he turned the corner and something broke loudly. He stilled, staring up at Riddle because technically he wasn't supposed to be in this Wing of the Manor.

"Er," he said, marshalling his thoughts to present an effective argument. But Potter just marched through the scattered remains of the vase and then, of all the things, put her hands on the ground and sort of flipped over them, like some kind of acrobat! 

Draco was so taken aback by this development that he almost didn't get out of the way in time to dodge the feet that came flying through the air towards his head.

"Watch where you're going!" he snapped.

Potter gave him her signature blank look. Her vivid snake eyes bored into him, and to his shame Draco looked away first. Potter's lip curled a bit, showing a flash of sharp fangs.

Draco bristled. "Who do you think you are?" he hissed, so utterly _done_ with having to tiptoe around people in his own home. He was a Malfoy for Morgana's sake!

Potter ignored him. Just like she so often did at school. Well not today, not in his house, she wouldn't!

Draco grabbed her arm as Potter tried to walk past him. 

"Stop ignoring me! You can't treat me like this! I'm a Malfoy and this is my house! Maybe you can get away with special treatment at Hogwarts, but you're nothing here! Just--"

Searing pain erupted in his side. Draco folded over his middle, clutching at the wound and finding a fist-sized boil there, already leaking fluid onto his shirt.

Potter went right on marching. Riddle lingered long enough to poke an ungentle finger at the wound.

"That'll spread," he commented. "Best find mummy dearest before you can't walk anymore."

Then he meandered along after Potter like he hadn't a care in the world. 

...

Ron shivered as he stared up at the black fortress on the island. A terrible chill was creeping into his bones, one that had nothing to do with the temperature. Swallowing hard, he reached out and took Hermione's hand. The other slipped into his pocket to touch Scabbers, who had stopped struggling and seemed frozen with terror. 

Ron felt a distant pang of guilt for bringing the rat, but he was only an animal. Hermione's books said Dementors didn't have much effect on them.

"Alright then, here we go," the warden huffed.

"You'll be fine, Ronnie," his mum whispered, the first time she'd called him anything but 'young man' since the Polyjuice screw up.

Ron managed a tremulous smile, and stepped after the warden into the darkness.

...

Sirius leaned back against the wall of his cell, as comfortable as he would ever get, which was to say not comfortable at all. Something interesting was happening today. The Warden swept through earlier and dismissed all but two token Dementors, herding the others back to whatever pit they crawled out of.

Sirius would put his nonexistent money on a scare-the-kids tour for some young idiot who hexed a muggle or sniffed one vial of pixie dust too many. His suspicions were confirmed when the Warden's wildcat Patronus slunk down the corridor.

"And this is the maximum security ward, with Dementors posted twenty four hours a day. We usually don't show this ward to the kiddies, but this is where Identity Theft of a Pureblood will land you, so."

"Not identity theft of a Halfblood, a Muggleborn?" a shaky but coherent young voice asked accusingly. 

"That's right," the Warden grunted, unconcerned with the bigotry. "Suppose it's because lotta Purebloods have fortunes to look after."

"Hmph. That's completely beside the point. An identity is an identity, no matter who it belongs to, and the punishment ought to be the same!"

Sirius couldn't help but laugh.

"What was that?" another young voice squeaked, a boy this time.

"Probably Black," the Warden said. "He's the only one I've known who can laugh when there's a Dementor around."

"You flatter me, Ward," Sirius croaked. The Patronus grew closer, until he could make out three figures.

"It's not a compliment," the Warden said flatly. The girl peered at him with nervous fascination, though she stayed by the Warden. The boy dared take a step in his direction.

Gryffindors, clearly.

"So Identity Theft, from a duo of eleven year olds. That must be quite the story," Sirius said, desperate for a bit of human interaction. 

"Er," the boy said when the Warden didn't do anything. "We're twelve, b-but yeah. Are--are you _the_ Black? Sirius Black?"

Sirius bowed from where he sat, bitterness fueling his answering smile.

"The very same. Tell me about it? We don't get much news up here."

The kids glanced at the Warden, who shrugged. Sirius couldn't fathom why the man was being so accommodating but didn't look the gift Pegasus in the mouth.

"We were trying to prove Potter was opening the Chamber of Secrets," the girl said. "Only it didn't work and we got caught. And it turned out Potter was innocent all along--"

"She was not," the boy interrupted furiously. "She's guilty! She fooled the truth serum and framed Ginny for everything!"

Sirius couldn't believe his ears. Potter, as in his little goddaughter? The Chamber of Secrets?

"Potter?" he repeated blankly.

"Er, yeah. Harriet Potter. She's an absolute monster--"

Sirius slammed his fists into the cell bars, on his feet before he knew what he was doing. "How dare you defile--? Lily and James, she's their--! Oh Merlin, I killed--PETER! IT WAS THE RAT!"

And as if summoned by the name of the traitor, there came a frantic squeaking from the boy's direction, the spectre of Peter haunting him.

"I know you're out there!" Sirius roared. "I'll find you! I'll kill you--!"

Something fell from the boy's robes, something small and brown and squirming...something with four fingers on its left paw. 

The next thing Sirius knew he was out of his cell, clutching a wand with two children behind him, Dementors bearing down on all of them, and the Warden unconscious on the floor. There was a rat in his fist.

"Run," Sirius said.

How they got off the island was a blur to Sirius. He knew he transformed, knew he carried Wormtail in his mouth, struggling not to bite down. He wanted to look the traitor in the eye as he died. What Sirius didn't know was everything else: how they got on a row boat, why the children hadn't been Kissed by Dementors, where they were.

Not that it mattered. He had a wand in his hand, a traitor staring him in the face, and two burning words on the tip of his tongue.

Sirius raised his stolen weapon. Peter moved astonishingly fast for a fat man. He stole the girl's wand and whipped it at Sirius before he could say more than "Avada--" and vanished over the side of the boat with a _crack_.

The scream that tore his throat had nothing to do with the pain of the curse. 

Sirius came to himself again to find two children staring at him wide eyed. The redhead looked ready to throw up and the brunette had tear tracks down her cheeks.

"Oops," Sirius said.

...

**Sirius Black Escaped!**

"Black is out!

On August fifteenth, Death Eater and mass murderer Sirius Black killed the warden of Azkaban and escaped the world's most secure prison! Two troubled teens were on a mandated tour of Azkaban prison at the time, and cunning Black took the duo hostage! Hermione Granger, mugleborn, and Ronald Weasley were found days later, confounded into believing Black was innocent and martyr Peter Pettigrew was guilty for Black's own crimes.

"It was Scabbers!" Ron Weasley exclaimed. "My rat! Only, he wasn't a rat, it was Pettigrew, and then he cursed Sirius and jumped off the boat and got away!"

"It's true," Hermione Granger insisted. "Sirius is innocent! Pettigrew was a rat animagus, and he cut off his own finger and blew up that street to frame Sirius! ...and if you can't see it then wizards are even stupider than I thought!"

Setting aside Granger's anti-wizard sentiments, citizens are warned that Black is extremely dangerous and in possession of a wand. Should you see him, do not attempt to apprehend him! Keep your distance and notify the Ministry at once.

More on Black's betrayal, page four.

More on Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley's capital crimes, page ten."

...

Voldemort put down the newspaper, releasing a chuckle that soon turned to full blown manic laughter, high and cruel. 

Ettie went still in her seat, curled around a book on curses. Even the unflappable Tom glanced up from his notes on the couch.

"Good news?" he ventured.

"Excellent," Voldemort agreed, a chilling smile warping his inhuman face into something demonic. "Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban. If you'll excuse me, horcruxes mine, I have a prison break to organize."

He swept from the room.

...

Bella knew the Dark Lord would come for her and her fellows. She had known it when they threw her in Azkaban and she knew it just as well thirteen years later.

And now that time was at hand. Bella caressed the skin around her Mark. It had been steadily darkening for months, and now it burned with the glory of the Dark Lord's presence. She struggled to stand on frostbitten extremities as explosions and screaming echoed through the prison. She would greet her Lord on her feet.

It wasn't long before the door to her cell burst open. The Dark Lord stood before her, crimson eyes and alabaster skin glowing in the darkness. Bella bowed low, hyper aware of her own inadequacy next to this god of a wizard, of her tangled hair and cracked teeth. No doubt she smelled like a Mudblood's hovel.

"Bella," the Dark Lord said, the words almost a croon. She felt her heartbeat quicken.

"My Lord," she breathed. 

The Dark Lord extended a pale hand, a very familiar piece of wood held delicately in his fingertips. Bella took her wand, gasping as warmth shot up her arm.

Her Lord beckoned to her, turning on his heel. Bella followed eagerly. Her heart swelled when she saw that the other imprisoned Death Eaters were being fetched by a trio of servants. She alone had been released by the Dark Lord himself.

When they were all gathered, their Lord spoke. 

"My most loyal," he said in a soft, echoing voice. "Today, you are free. You are saved."

His gaze swept across the room, seeming to meet every set of eyes.

"I have returned to you from the jaws of death itself, from that yawning pit of oblivion. And like Lord Voldemort, so too shall you rise again. We are the future, my friends. We are destined to take back our world, our heritage, and our power.

"We have tasted the bitter draught of defeat, it is true. But we have survived it to come forth stronger than ever before, stronger than our enemies, strong enough to reclaim _what is ours!"_

He sneered, a cruelly amused little thing.

"The enemy has grown fat and indolent in our absence. They think themselves the benevolent saviors of the dirty and downtrodden, all while stepping on the bodies of those who they should have called kin. They betray their own blood for the sake of muggles and Mudbloods!

"Well, my friends? Shall we let this stand?"

" _No!"_ Bella cried, one with dozens of voices.

"No," the Dark Lord repeated softly, his eyes burning. "No we will not."

...

Seraphina Rosier was not your typical Death Eater. From her loose blonde curls and plump figure to her love of small animals and the way she fainted at the sight of blood, Sera was the last person you'd expect to be a follower of the notoriously violent Dark Lord. Which is why she was the perfect follower.

The perfect spy. 

Sera giggled at her own dramatics. Spy, her? Certainly not. Perfect follower? Maybe in her dreams. 

"Stop tittering and get back to work," Madame Bones ordered. Sera coaxed a blush into her cheeks and turned her dopiest look on her boss.

"For you, always," she breathed. Bones shifted uncomfortably and ignored the words. Sera added a wink and the older witch turned and strode off, but not fast enough to hide the flush creeping up her neck.

Prude.

Sera smirked as she turned back to filing mission reports, slipping in a forged report of a muggle sighting of Bellatrix Lestrange in Germany.

Maybe she wasn't the perfect follower or an undercover spy. But she did have her uses.

...

Albus cradled his head in his hands, wondering when everything had fallen apart. He suspected it was when the Philosopher's Stone went missing from Gringotts and he did nothing. There was no proof, not even a hint of evidence that pointed to Tom being behind it. And so Albus had doubted, had kept his wilder theories to himself, even after the Prophesied Child turned up dead in a river in France. Severus' Dark Mark was as pale and silent as it had been for the last ten years, after all. 

Then the Chamber was opened and he knew he had made a terrible mistake. Children were attacked, an innocent took the blame, and Harriet Potter went missing. The poor, broken girl. She was likely dead already, and there was nothing he could do if she wasn't. 

And now Sirius and the other Death Eaters had escaped, gone to join their Master. Voldemort was risen and his followers were once again free to wreak havoc on the unsuspecting world. And who was there to stop them but Albus? With the Girl Who Lived and the Prophesied Child both off the board, it seemed he was left with no choice but to face Tom himself.


	4. wearing a warning sign part one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief non-graphic sexual assault at Bones Manor--take care of yourselves.

Hermione knew getting expelled from Hogwarts would have consequences. She was grounded all summer, for one. But she didn't anticipate it crippling her magical education! There were other schools, after all, and a single misdemeanor aside, Hermione was a brilliant student with a flawless record. 

So no, she didn't expect it when Beauxbatons denied her enrollment. Then the American Institute of Magic. Then Castlebroux. Then Ilvermorny. Then every major School of Magic in the entire world! All that Hermione was left with were second rate institutions and a pile of broken dreams. Until Albus Dumbledore contacted her, that was.

"Hello again, Miss Granger," Dumbledore greeted when her mother called her downstairs. 

"Professor Dumbledore!" she exclaimed. "Oh, er, sorry! Mr Dumbledore!"

"Professor is quite alright, dear girl," Dumbledore said. "I may no longer be Headmaster of Hogwarts, but I remain a teacher at heart."

"Of course, sir," Hermione agreed, feeling herself blush. "Erm, if you will excuse my abruptness, why exactly are you here?"

"I'd like to invite you to help me start a new school, naturally!" he said cheerfully. 

Hermione blinked. A huge grin spread across her face. 

"That--yes! That sounds amazing! Thank you so much, sir!"

"Excellent! I've cleared everything with your parents, of course. How do you feel about starting tomorrow?"

Now Hermione Granger was the proud first student of the newly formed Dumbledore's Academy of Magic, affectionately nicknamed DAM. She might have been disgraced but so was he, and that didn't make a man like the Headmaster any less brilliant. 

...

Despite the Dementor on the train, Ettie returned to Hogwarts in better shape than ever before, and in a much better mood. She'd been tortured over the summer, true, and regularly got the crap kicked out of her in duels with Voldemort, Tom, and various Death Eaters. But nobody controlled her every move, she could eat three square meals a day if she felt like it, and she had both her wand and magic at her disposal. 

The general populace seemed to take her rare happiness as an insult and a challenge simultaneously and took action on the first night back. 

It started like this: Ettie, as per usual and because she didn't feel like fending off dozens of hexes while trying to eat her dinner, sat at the Slytherin Table during the Feast. 

"Be careful tonight," Zabini murmured in her ear under the guise of reaching for the peas. "The Ravenclaws have something planned."

"I figured," she replied just as quietly. She ate two bites of everything on her plate and was full. Drawbacks of having a rock in your stomach. 

Ettie expected some kind of confrontation, a talking to or maybe even a fight. She expected hate and anger and self righteous idiocy.

What Ettie did not expect was the silence. The Prefects had already ushered the oblivious Firsties off to bed and were returning quietly. And then, one by one, almost every member of Ravenclaw House laid their wands at their feet. Ettie was shocked, but not too shocked to take note of those who did not.

"We're not going to fight with you," the Prefect from the incident year before said. "That's not the way we do things here."

Ettie waited silently, more wrong-footed than she would care to admit. 

"But we can't go on like this. You attack your fellow students, disregard all boundaries, and show no respect for anyone but yourself. It's gone on for long enough."

He unfurled a long sheet of parchment and held it out to her. Ettie took it with her wand, unwilling to touch anything they gave her. It was a last of names, over a hundred of them, below a petition to remove one Harriett Potter from the House of Ravenclaw.

"It's magically enforced and effective at midnight," the Prefect told her. "So you have two hours to collect your things and leave."

Ettie wordlessly tucked the parchment into her robes and looked around the room. Most people were suppressing grins, a few didn't bother, and the rest were carefully neutral. Then there was Lovegood, who was crying openly. 

Ettie was pissed, but not particularly surprised. She was broken and cruel and a freaking train wreck; who would actually want her around? Everybody left her eventually. Everyone except Maisie, but that was because Ettie was the one who left when she died. 

She contemplated hexing them and leaving, but apparently someone had noticed that she didn't like attacking weaponless opponents. Really, the only thing left to do was accept it and move on. 

(She would plan revenge later. The idiots gave her a list of their names, and she would be crossing off every single one of them.) 

So Ettie nodded, summoned her trunk and her snake, and left the Common Room. A cacophony of cheers erupted behind her as the room shut. Ettie clutched her wand and did _not_ go back to feed them their own intestines. Instead she stalked off down the corridor, only to stop short when she saw who was waiting for her.

"Professor Flickwick," she said.

"Miss Potter."

"Your name," Ettie hummed, a hot and viscous feeling bubbling up her esophagus, "was on that paper."

"It was," he acknowledged. "You were never meant for Ravenclaw--it's better for both you and your fellow students this way. I've already spoken to Severus, and Slytherin House is willing to make you one of their own."

"I see," Ettie whispered. She was not going to cry. She was not. She _wouldn't_. Flickwick's professional facade faltered the slightest bit. 

"I'm truly sorry that it came to this--"

"Fuck. You." Ettie had a death grip on her wand. Every picture frame in sight rattled. "You're a _teacher_. You're supposed to help your students, not kick them out."

"I understand how you feel," Flickwick said, his dark eyes sad. "But this _is_ my way of helping you."

Ettie laughed. It came out undeniably cold and higher than she had intended. Flickwick flinched violently. 

~You're going to regret this some day,~ Ettie swore, still grinning because it was either that or burst into tears. ~Some day you're going to _beg_.~

She turned and all but ran away, humiliation and fury burning twin holes in her chest. 

...

Ettie didn't sleep that night, nor did she go to the Slytherin Dorms. Instead she found the Room of Requirement, picked up a very special package, and sent a message to Tom.

Ettie settled herself on the very edge of the Astronomy Tower to wait, twirling the horcrux around her finger. It wasn't long before he showed up, slipping through the wards easily as he was, technically, still a student. 

"I do hope you're not thinking of jumping," Tom said. "Your...special condition or not, that would be an awfully big mess to clean up."

Ettie didn't respond and Tom came to sit next to her, tucking the horcrux into his robes. Even in her foul mood Ettie noticed his warmth, the smoky smell of him, the electric tingle of his aura. 

"What happened?"

"Ravenclaw kicked me out," Ettie said, aiming for uncaring and missing the mark by a mile. 

Tom was quiet for a moment. 

"Good. You were always more of a Slytherin, anyway."

"I know," Ettie said, furious to find tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. "But that doesn't mean I want to kill them any less."

"Let's do that then," Tom said immediately. "We can make it look like an accident. Someone brewed a potion wrong--the fumes killed them all in their sleep. How tragic."

Ettie snorted, lips quirking up even as she scrubbed away the wetness on her cheeks. She wanted...she wanted a hug. But the only person who ever hugged her was in another world, so. 

A warm hand rested on her leg. Ettie almost jumped out of her skin and it was only Tom catching her that kept Ettie from falling off the tower. 

"For Merlin's sake, Potter," he grunted, reeling her back in with an arm around her waist. Ettie went still at the contact, afraid to move lest he realize what he was doing and pull away. He didn't. In fact, Tom tightened his hold until she was pressed right up against his side. He was so _warm_. Ettie could feel his ribs move as he breathed, feel his heartbeat against her skin. The distant tingle of pain in her scar barely registered. 

"You're a pain in my arse, you know that?" Tom said. The vibrations of his voice sent goosebumps crawling across her arms. Ettie didn't respond.

They sat there together for hours, watching the sun creep its way over the horizon. When it had fully risen, Tom pulled away.

"I should be getting back," he said. "Do you know your way to the Snake Pit?"

Ettie shook her head, though she could probably figure it out. She shivered from the sudden lack of body heat.

"I'll take you then. Come along, little love."

They meandered down the dim hallways, from the highest point in Hogwarts to the lowest. Ettie kept her hands buried in her pockets so she wouldn't humiliate herself further by reaching for Tom's hand like a lovesick child. 

"Here we are," Tom said as they approached a stretch of wall that looked just like all the others. 

~Open.~

Ettie blinked as the wall slid open silently. That was useful. No need to remember a password.

They stepped inside, only to still as they realized someone was already there, clearly waiting. It was Zabini.

"Potter," he said, "who's this?"

The protective way he came and stood between them should have been amusing. A Third Year against the young Dark Lord? But Ettie found herself reluctantly touched.

"It's alright Blaise. He's a friend."

Zabini blinked twice and Ettie belatedly realized she called him by his first name. 

"Tom Riddle," Tom said smoothly, dark almost-red eyes glowing in the candle light. 

"...Blaise Zabini."

"A pleasure, I'm sure." Tom turned to Ettie and, without warning, reached out and pulled her to his chest. Ettie froze. One of his gloved hands was in her hair. The other stretched across her back. 

Blaise was making a choking sound, and Ettie felt for him, really she did. Baby Voldemort just _hugged_ her, a proper tight hug and he wasn't letting go. Ettie felt her face heat up and hid her blush against his sternum.

At last Tom released her. He grinned a pleased, too-sharp grin and brushed a stray curl from her face. And then he was gone.

Zabini and Ettie stood there for several long moments, just looking at each other.

"If you mention this to anyone," Ettie said slowly, "I will break every bone in your body and make it look like an accident."

Blaise--Zabini, that was--swallowed and nodded.

"Yes milady."

"Good. Now, where am I sleeping?"

...

Sirius, overall, should have had a great few months. He was out of Azkaban, he was living in a lovely shed, he was clean and fed and rid of fleas. Talk about living the life! 

But he didn't have Pettigrew. And he couldn't find his goddaughter anywhere. So while being free was a nice change of pace, the same issues still haunted him. He still killed Lily and James, he still couldn't kill the rat, and he still couldn't protect Harry.

So yeah. Sirius was not the happiest pygmy puff of the bunch. And his day only got worse when Albus Dumbledore opened the door to his shed home.

"Hello Sirius."

He tried to bolt, but it was Dumbledore. Sirius was screwed the second the man found him. But how, exactly, had he done that? 

A small, frizzy haired girl stepped into the shed behind Dumbledore. Sirius snarled. Traitor! Betrayer! Liar!

"Calm yourself," Dumbledore ordered, his spell pushing Sirius harder against the floor. "Miss Granger is the only reason I have not already called the Aurors. She believes in your innocence."

Sirius stopped fighting. 

"Very good. Now, if I release you, will you promise to return to human form and hand over your wand?"

Sirius bared his teeth. 

"I will not turn you in, if that's what you're worried about. You have my word."

Reluctantly, Sirius nodded. The pressure around his ribs eased and he shifted back to human. Dumbledore held out his hand for the Warden's stolen wand and Sirius gave it to him. 

"I have here Veritaserum. Are you willing to take it?"

Sirius licked his lips. "Yes," he croaked.

Dumbledore offered it. Sirius let three drops fall onto his tongue and swallowed the tasteless substance readily. 

"What is your name?"

"Sirius Orion Black."

"Did you betray James and Lily Potter to Lord Voldemort?"

"Never," Sirius growled.

"Who was the Secret Keeper for James and Lily Potter?"

"Peter Pettigrew! The rat! He--he--I as good as killed them! I killed Lily and James!"

"Explain."

Sirius felt a sob build up in his chest. He gripped his long hair with both hands, pulling as hard as he could. 

"It was my idea. It was my--I told them to switch Secret Keepers! Who would ever suspect little Peter--But he was a rat, always, and I ki-killed them! I killed them!"

Sirius buried his face in his hands, nails digging into his skin. 

"I'm guilty. I killed them. I'm guilty. I--"

Hands settled on his shoulders. Sirius flinched and looked up into Dumbledore's craggy face. He was crying. 

"Oh Sirius, I am so sorry. I should have known you could never betray your friends."

"I would rather die," he said pitifully. 

"I know. I know, my boy."

Dumbledore actually embraced Sirius, who was torn between leaning into it and wrenching away. Dumbledore pulled back and stepped away. A split second later a little form barreled into his chest, sobbing loudly. This time Sirius had no hesitation in folding Hermione into arms. 

It was a while before she pulled away, eyes watery and cheeks pink. Sirius, despite the fact that he felt like his heart had been torn out, managed a smile for her. Hermione was just the same age as Harry was. So young, so small. So _innocent_. 

"How about some tea?" Dumbledore suggested. Sirius nodded, and a few minutes later the three of them were in what had to be Dumbledore's home. That was a weird thought. Sirius supposed he had never really grown out of the mindset that teachers didn't exist outside of school. Though he supposed Dumbledore didn't actually work at Hogwarts any more.

"I have a proposition for you, my boy," he said.

"Shoot."

"How would you like to be an instructor at my new school?"

Sirius dropped his biscuit. 

"You're joking."

Dumbledore smiled. "I assure you, I am not."

"But you have to be," Sirius said blankly. "I'm not the least bit qualified to be a teacher!"

"I agree." Dumbledore took a sip of tea. "Which is why I said instructor, not teacher. You would not be in charge of conventional classes but rather specialized lessons in combat survival."

"Combat survival," Sirius repeated. 

"Yes. Lord Voldemort," Hermione flinched as he said this, "has returned. It is imperative that the newest generation learn to withstand what is coming."

"You want me to teach children how to fight."

"I want you to teach children how not to die when confronted with an enemy more experienced, more powerful, and more vicious," Dumbledore corrected. 

Sirius looked at Hermione. Her features were determined, set in stone. 

"I..." Harry's little face flashed in his mind, blurry and twelve years out of date. His resolve firmed. "Okay. Yeah, I'll do it."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled triumphantly. "Thank you, my boy. You are doing the world a great service."

"Yeah, yeah. How many brats are there?"

Dumbledore and Hermione exchanged glances. 

"Just the one," Dumbledore admitted cheerfully.

Sirius blinked. "Oh. Er, I guess we best get started then, Miss Granger. Let's whip you into shape!"

...

Ettie woke up to green instead of blue, a private room instead of a shared one, and a giant tentacle floating past her window. Ettie took a moment to just...be. She felt raw and hollow, like everything inside her had been scraped out with a serrated knife. It wasn't because of the Ravenclaw thing, not really. That was just the last straw.

No, Ettie's little breakdown had been a long time coming. She hadn't dealt with the...excitement of the last two years except to shove it to the box in the back of her mind. She could feel the box rattling now, threatening to let all her demons loose.

Ettie knew she should do something about that, but she didn't know what, exactly, to do. The head shrink summer home suggested things like confiding in a friend or talking to an adult or taking potions that made her feel all the things she didn't want to.

The closest things she had to friends were Zabini and Lovegood. But she didn't quite trust Zabini and she didn't want to burden Lovegood. Ettie would rather die than talk to Snape about feelings and he was the only adult she would consider. And those stupid potions could rot in hell.

Ettie took a deep breath and locked the box firmly shut. She didn't have time for feelings right now. It was only twenty minutes before her first class and Voldemort, the sadistic tosser, had told her that she would have ten seconds under the Cruciatus for every subject that she didn't get an O in. 

...

Divination, Ettie decided, was going to be another self-study class. It was like History of Magic--valuable and important but taught by a useless piece of shit masquerading as a teacher. 

Still, Ettie took note of the not-quite-a-fraud's show boat predictions. Something would happen to Susan Bone's Auntie, one of the staff would be lost forever, and Ron Weasley would die. Personally, Ettie suspected the Grim referenced an association with Sirius Black, but whatever.

In her own tea dregs, Ettie saw apples for long life (no surprises there), a goat which meant enemies and was even less of a surprise, and what could either be a dagger or knife, meaning help from friends or a betrayal respectively. 

Trelawney saw even more.

"Such a busy cup! You will lead an interesting life," she cried. "Long life, success in school come from the apples. After we have an axe: you will overcome many problems. But then comes the hourglass! Imminent danger is upon you, Harriet Potter! And the goat--you have _enemies_ , girl."

She didn't say anything about the knife/dagger, so either she was incompetent or she didn't know which it was either. 

Either way, Ettie hoped all Divination classes wouldn't be this tedious. 

...

Remus couldn't believe his ears. Minerva's mouth was moving, words were coming out, and yet none of it made a lick of sense. 

"I just want you to be prepared," she as saying. "That girl is nothing like James or Lily. Her own House excommunicated her last night, and if that doesn't say it all then I don't know what does."

"...Minerva," Remus said, "she's barely thirteen. Perhaps she has attitude problems but Harry is still a child. You're making it sound like she's evil!"

Minerva pressed her lips together. "I know this is difficult to hear, and that you may not believe me until you experience her for yourself. But this goes far beyond _attitude_ _problems_."

"How so?"

For the first time, she looked hesitant and a bit spooked.

"Her very nature is...disturbing to me. I...what I do not advertise is that I went to school with Tom Riddle."

"Tom Riddle!" Remus exclaimed. "But that's--"

"You-Know-Who," Minerva confirmed grimly. Remus shivered, glancing about the deserted classroom as if the man himself would be lurking under a desk.

"What does that have to do with Harry?" he asked, dreading the answer.

"She reminds me of him. Of Tom."

Remus felt his face drain of blood. There was always a risk, when a child was touched by Dark Magic, that there would be...effects.

"Not overtly," Minerva added quickly, as if that made it better. Maybe it did. "Just in little things. The way they hold their wands. How they sit like every chair is a throne. The way they check a room before they enter it."

"And Albus doesn't agree with you?" He hoped, perhaps, that Minerva was exaggerating.

"No." She shook her head. "He believed I was paranoid. He watched Tom closely, but I was younger than Tom, and I worshiped him like the rest of the school. I noticed everything about him. Albus only saw the broad strokes of his personality which Miss Potter lacks--his charm, his manipulative nature, his artificiality."

Remus closed his eyes. It could be a coincidence. The sweet, grumpy, incredibly loving baby that he had known wasn't gone, surely. She only needed someone to be there for her, to lend unconditional support. He could do that.

For James' sake. For Lily's. And most of all for Harry's own.

...

Ettie approached her first Defense class with her hackles raised and bile crawling up her throat. She was seeing 'Uncle Moony' again, which made her want to hex something because _where the hell had he been for the past twelve years_? Hence the hackles. And she had already heard rumors about today's lesson: facing your worst fear. In public. In a school with a legendary gossip mill. Hence the bile.

If she could have gotten away with it, Ettie would have slunk inside like a spurned cat. But eyes followed her wherever she went, so Ettie stomped into the classroom as boldly as she always did, stabbing Ronald Weasley's foot with her stiletto heel when he tried to trip her. 

Blaise was her faithful shadow, and thank Merlin she had all her core classes with him now. He was refreshingly non-idiotic. 

"This way please," Lupin said pleasantly once roll call was finished. He didn't glance once in her direction, except to give her the same nod and smile that he did everyone when their name was called.

It made her blood boil. This was the man who cradled her in the middle of the night so her par--so the Potters could sleep, who read to her for hours on end, who held her more gingerly than she had ever been touched. This was the only person left from those idyllic fifteen months before Voldemort ruined everything. This was who she prayed would come and rescue her from long days of pain and humiliation. 

And yet the tool couldn't even look at her.

Ettie was so busy being angry that she forgot to be afraid, right up until the staffroom wardrobe swung open and she was the only one who didn't step back.

Shit. Ettie braced herself, knowing exactly what her worst fear was and terrified of how it would present itself–

Was that a baby?

Ettie's wand dropped half an inch. The baby crawled closer and her stomach lurched. It was her from Before, covered in bruises and eerily silent. The baby flickered, gaining pale skin and green eyes. Cornrows and chocolatey skin. Blonde hair and a huge birthmark. Asian eyes and dark curls. Ginger pigtails and a swath of freckles. All that remained constant were the bruises and an ever increasing bitterness that didn't belong in a child's eyes.

She sneered. Was that really the best it could do? Show her a bunch of babies? Ettie flicked her wand.

"Ridikulus," she snapped. The bruises faded and the infant tipped over on its front with a gurgle, eyes comically wide. Ettie neatly stepped back as the room giggled, pretending her hands weren't shaking. 

Ettie claimed a corner for herself and watched carefully as the mix of Slytherins and Gryffindors showed their worst fears. Half of them were Voldemort. Most of the rest were dead loved ones or various deadly creatures. 

And then there was Weasley. His boggart was _her_.

Ettie felt her lips curve into an ugly smirk. Weasley's face was bright red and furious as he shouted the counter spell. Nothing happened. 

Boggart-Ettie stalked forward, black-painted lips glistening like an oil spill, eyes glowing like curses. Ettie was pleased to note that she did, in fact, look terrifying enough to be someone's worst fear.

Weasley trembled as Boggart-Ettie opened her mouth. The voice that came out was light and childish, a stark contrast to her predatory appearance. Did she really sound like that?

"You couldn't stop me," Boggart-Ettie cooed. "I got Neville killed, and you did nothing. I got Hermione expelled and what you did _meant_ nothing. I got Ginny committed and honey, you didn't even try, did you?"

"It's not real," Lupin urged. "Remember the spell!"

Of course it wasn't real. Ettie would never call anyone _honey_.

"R-ridikulus!"

Boggart-Ettie giggled creepily. "You couldn't stop me then and you can't stop me now. Nothing you do will ever be enough. You're a failure, Ron Weasley. It's your fault Neville is dead--"

Lupin stepped in front of Weasley, arms spread wide. The boggart turned into a shimmering full moon. Lupin preformed the counter spell and the boggart became a balloon, which he directed back into the wardrobe. 

"Class dismissed," Lupin said mildly, as though nothing out of sorts had happened. Weasley was the first one through the door. 

...

"Weasley's boggart is yourself," Snape said in-between sessions of kicking her ass. "Have you had any significant interactions with the boy?"

"I stunned the prat who was tormenting him and the other two in First Year. And he occasionally tries to hex me in the halls."

Snape frowned disapprovingly. "Does he succeed?"

"Not anymore," Ettie smirked. Snape smirked too.

"Good. Now, again."

...

By the next morning, everyone knew about the boggart incident and seemed to take Boggart-Ettie's words as some sort of proof that she was behind every awful thing that happened over the last two years. Because of course they did. 

The result was that Ettie was blocking more hexes than ever before, her semi-loyal Slytherins took a step back from her when in public, and the teachers did what they usually did. Nothing. 

"-and just look at her!" Weasley was saying now, surrounded by gossip mongers at the opposite end of study hall. "She practically reeks of Dark Magic! Super pale skin and abnormal eyes are some of the symptoms of Dark spell usage--Hermione told me so."

There was a moment of respectful silence. Ettie rolled her eyes, as did many of the Slytherins. Honestly. The girl was at another school, not dead. 

"Are you sure you're not a Dark Wizard, then Weasel?" Baby Malfoy's snotty voice drawled. "I mean, you're the pastiest thing on earth under those ghastly freckles and your eyes are certainly unusually ugly."

"Shut up Malfoy!" Weasley snarled. "You're just trying to defect from the fact that you're a Dark Wizard too!"

"First of all, it's _deflect_ , not defect. Secondly, your allegations hold less weight than your bank account, impressively enough."

Ettie smirked internally. Not because she thought Malfoy's remark was particularly clever, but because Weasley's face closely resembled a dirt-splattered tomato. 

"Eat Slugs," Weasley bellowed, whipping his wand at Malfoy, who blocked it and returned fire with the reflexes that came from spending his summer with A) Ettie and B) Bellatrix Lestrange. 

"Malfoy, detention," the Prefect on duty snapped. "Ten points from Slytherin."

"What about Weasley?" Malfoy demanded. "He tried to hex me first!"

"I didn't see that part," the Prefect said. 

"I did!" Parkinson interjected. 

"As did I."

"Me too!"

"Unfortunately I cannot punish based on word of mouth. Malfoy, sit down."

Ettie, who was at the Prefect's back, silently pulled out her wand and cursed him. His hair fell out in a shower of curls.

"Who did that?!" he shrieked as students laughed.

"It was Potter," one of the Lions called.

"Potter--" he began. 

"Can't punish based on word of mouth," Ettie said. "Isn't that right?"

His own mouth worked furiously as her...cohort?...of Slytherins laughed. Baby Malfoy was smirking as he rejoined them. He nodded to her, and after a pause, Ettie returned it. He had mentioned earlier how a Weasel's worst fears weren't proof of anything, so she supposed he earned it. 

...

"Miss Potter, please stay behind."

Ettie stilled, eyes locked on Lupin's amber ones. 

"Sorry sir, but she already has an appointment with Professor Snape," Blaise said immediately, giving Lupin a practiced insincere smile. "Transfering Houses is a complicated afair, you understand."

"It's okay Blaise," she said quietly, still maintaining eye contact. "Professor Snape rescheduled for tomorrow."

"You sure?" he checked. Lupin's eyebrows were raised--evidently he knew they weren't actually talking about a meeting with Snape.

"Yes."

"...Alright, then. I'll be waiting outside."

"Thanks Zabini." 

Blaise gave a nod that was nearly a bow and ducked out of the door. Lupin didn't speak until it had clicked shut. 

"Quite the protective friend you have there," Lupin said, smiling.

"What do you want."

"I rather thought that, as your Professor, I should speak with you about your boggart--"

Ettie turned and walked away.

"Miss Potter," Lupin called, "we aren't finished."

She spun around with a speed that surprised her. " _Yes we are,"_ she snarled. "If that's all you have to say to me, we're _done_."

He frowned mildly.

"Have I done something to offend you?"

Ettie swore she saw red. 

"You..." But words failed her. Ettie turned away again so he wouldn't see the tears collecting in her eyes. 

"Miss Potter--"

" _Don't call me that!_ " she screamed. Lupin froze, seeming thrown off for the first time in the conversation.

"What else should I call you?"

An ugly sob tried to claw its way out of her throat. 

"I don't know, _Uncle Moony_. What should you call me?"

Lupin staggered, clutching the back of a chair to keep upright. He stared at her like he'd never seen her before, like she was a ghost, like she was something precious that had just spit on him.

"You...you remember me?" he whispered hoarsely. 

"Yes," Ettie spat. "I remember that you left me alone when my parents died. I remember that I cried for you every night. I remember that you abandoned me and showed up twelve years later as a Professor calling me 'Miss Potter' as if you weren't my _only family left!_ "

Lupin trembled. He was crying. Slowly, he knelt down in front of her, as if one wrong move would scare her into bolting. Maybe it would.

"I...I am so unimaginably sorry," he said, face fighting against itself as he struggled not to flat out bawl. Ettie imagined her face looked much the same. 

"Sorry doesn't make it better," she said childishly, feeling her face scrunch up as she lost the battle against ugly crying. 

"I know," Lupin replied, bowing his head. "I know. Nothing I do can ever--"

His voice cracked and he broke down crying. He shrunk in on himself, hands pressed against his eyes. Part of Ettie felt he deserved it, reveled in his pain. The other, smaller part of her, the part that loved Maisie and humored Luna and ached when the Firsties shied away...that part took control.

Ettie lunged forward and hugged Lupin. His arms came around her instantly and she was pulled to his chest, cradled in his lap as he rocked back and forth, murmuring a constant stream of apologies.

It wasn't all better. It wasn't even fine. Ettie hadn't forgiven Lupin, and he hadn't forgiven himself. They weren't proper family. They were just two strangers with the same soul-deep pain. And somehow, just for the moment...that was enough.

...

Ettie exited the classroom an hour later, dry-eyed and cheeks free of splotches. Blaise was sitting casually on a transfigured chair, doing his homework.

"Where'd you get the books?"

Blaise stood, cancelling the transfiguration. "Threatened some Hufflepuff into fetching them from the Library. You're useful for things like that, you know."

"Glad to be of service."

They began walking towards the Pit. Ettie felt...she didn't know what she felt. Emotions were not her strong suit. Lighter? Raw. But soothed somehow. 

Feelings were weird. 

"How badly are we going to get Lupin?" Blaise broke the silence. 

Ettie smirked. 

"We'll make him wish he was never born."

...

The next day Lupin went about bald, in shoes that were forever wet and squeaky. The day after he hiccuped every time he spoke and his robes glowed neon green. The day after that nobody would get within ten feet of him due to an overpowering smell of wet, skunky dog. 

"Stay behind please Harry," Lupin said, his voice full of the reedy squeak of puberty. Ettie smirked openly and stayed behind.

"You need something, Professor Moony?"

"No, but I rather thought you might," he said.

Lupin showed her a piece of folded parchment. Ettie's eyebrows furrowed.

"Excuse me?"

It was Lupin's turn to smirk. He pulled out his wand with a flourish. Ettie controlled her flinch and watched as he tapped the parchment. 

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Ink spread across the parchment like webs. Ettie's eyes nearly bugged out.

 _Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs are proud to present the Marauder's Map_.

"It shows every being in Hogwarts," Lupin said. "Every secret passage, every nook, every cranny. Passwords, traps, tricks. We...we started making it First Year. Your father came up with the idea."

Ettie reached out and touched it. 

"That's incredible," she said honestly. 

"Incredible enough for you to stop the pranks?" he asked wryly.

"Not a chance."

"I figured. Blood will out, and James was quite the imp in his time."

Ettie pulled away a bit at the mention of her father. "Actually I've just sicced most of the Slytherin lower years on you."

"Still," Lupin said, smiling. Ettie huffed. 

"Whatever. The map?"

"Of course. You tap any area twice to zoom in..."

Lupin spent a good portion of the evening pouring over the map, rediscovering and teaching her all of its tricks. 

The next day he still woke up with Slytherin themed hair.

...

Ron looked around the room, fighting the urge to swallow. There were...a lot. He stood up and cleared his throat. A few people looked at him but most kept chattering. 

He wished Hermione was here. Or maybe Ginny. She never had a problem getting people to listen to her. She'd just bellow at them. 

Ron cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and yelled as loud as he could.

"SHUT IT!"

Silence spread across the assembled students. Great. Now all he had to do was speak.

"Er...you all know why we're here," he began. Someone--probably that git McLaggen--snorted derisively. Ron felt his ears burn but soldiered on anyway. For Neville, for Hermione. For Ginny.

"Potter is a menace. She needs to be stopped and the teachers haven't done a thing. So...so we need to do it ourselves!"

What was the phrase Hermione used in her last letter?

"It's time we take matters into our own hands."

Someone raised a hand. Ron nodded at them, feeling oddly like a teacher.

"But how are we going to do that exactly?"

"That's what we're here to figure out," Ron answered. "There's a load of us and only one of her. We can figure it out!"

Wait, he'd already said that. Oh well. People were muttering in agreement. The Twins whistled in unision and Dean and Seamus were whooping like it was a Quidditch match. 

"Wait, but how are we going to get away with this?" Lavender asked nervously. "I mean, even if it's Potter, I doubt the teachers will let us have a club dedicated to having a student expelled."

"That's a good question. Officially, we won't be, er, dedicated to getting rid of Potter. We'll be a club for something else."

"Like what?" some Hufflepuff said.

Ron shrugged. "Dunno. Whatever we want! Quidditch, chess, we could even pretend to be a study group. Though it's a good thing Mione isn't here or we'd actually have to study."

Laughter rippled across the crowd.

"Let's take a vote," he suggested, emboldened by the positive response. "What should our fake club be?"

"Quidditch!" Oliver Wood shouted. "We can have miniature matches and beat Slytherin into the ground!"

Ron laughed. "I think you missed the word 'fake', Wood."

"But we have to keep up appearances, right? Talk about two brooms with one stone!" 

"How about we don't do that," Lavender said hastily. "Chess or study club would be best, I think."

"Chess!" the Twins shouted. "In honor of Ronniekins! Brave defender of innocents and warrior against Darkness!"

"Oh shut up," Ron grumbled, sure his ears were red again. But the rest of the room took up the chant.

"Chess! CHESS! _CHESS_!"

"Fine, fine!" Ron laughed. "We'll be a chess club! And half the castle is probably convinced already--you lot are bloody loud!"

They cheered.

"Now," Ron said when the noise had settled down. "Now we just need a name. Two names, actually. One for the chess club, one for the, er, anti-Potter club."

"We should try to do the same initials," Percy said pompously. "So we don't encite suspicion."

"Good idea," Ron said diplomatically. "Any ideas?"

There was a thoughtful silence. 

"Chess Appreciation and, erm, Chuck Arseholes?" Seamus suggested.

More laughter. 

"Try again, Finnegan!" a Ravenclaw hooted.

"Hey, at least I tried at all! That's better than you've done, Boot!"

"Hey, Weasley, what are some moves in chess that have the letter P in them?" Cho Chang asked.

"Er, there's King's Pawn Opening, Petrov's Defense..."

"So, we could have one of those as the chess name and..hm...the Kill Potter Organization? Potter's Doom?" Terry Boot said.

"We're not actually going to kill Potter," Ron said.

"Potter's Doom could be fun," another Hufflepuff--Ron should really learn their names--mused. "It's a bit dramatic, though."

"The Queen is the most important piece in chess, right?" George said thoughtfully. "And Potter certainly fancies herself snakey royalty. We could use that."

"Yeah," Fred agreed. "There's something called the Queen's Gambit, isn't there?"

"Huh. That could work. The Queen's Gambit is one of the oldest chess openings. It's pretty aggressive too," Ron said.

"I like the sound of the Queen's Gambit Club," Lavender said. "It's a lot more sophisticated than Potter's Doom."

"Well yeah, but..." Dean trailed off. 

"What?"

"Nothing, it's just that there's a muggle comic book with a ship called the Queen's Gambit."

"Who cares?" Seamus said, shoving his best friend playfully.

"Yeah, I guess. Actually, it's kind of fitting. The main character in the comics is on a mission to get rid of the corrupt elite in his city."

"Alright then. All in favor of the Queen's Gambit Club shoot up red sparks, those not in favor shoot green!" Ron called. 

There was an overwhelming amount of red sparks, a few green, and then a handful of yellow and blue. Ron grinned.

"It's official. We're taking down Potter!"

The crowd roared.

...

Ettie, as per usual, had a list. Not very usual was the fact that she was including someone else in the list-making.

"Greengrass is the perfect fit," Zabini argued lightly. "She's intelligent, ruthless and bloody brilliant in Defense."

"She's a flaky fairweather friend who would dump me if Parkinson coughed disapprovingly. You just want her for her looks," Ettie said. "Moving on. What do you think about Nott?"

"He's intelligent," Blaise said. "Shrewd. An upcoming Runes prodigy. But he's as loyal to the Dark Lord as anyone can be to a dead man."

 _You'd be surprised_. 

"Put him on the list anyway."

Zabini gave her a Look. Ettie blinked innocently at him.

"Like you said, he's loyal to a dead man. We may be able to poach him for ourselves."

"Whatever, Potter." But he obediently wrote down the name.

They were lounging in the Alcove where they first met, enlarged by Tippy and protected with every curse, hex and ward that the two of them knew. Ettie had been thinking recently that she needed more...what was the word? They wouldn't be friends, or even really allies. She hesitated to say followers, but that was probably it. 

Strange as it was, that was how things worked in the Wizarding World. People would group behind the few most powerful witches and wizards, looking to them for protection and power in return for loyalty. Ettie, by some accident of fate and the horcrux in her head, was one of those few. 

Anyway, Blaise brought it to her attention that people were literally lining up to be her...followers. Ugh, that sounded wrong. They were lining up the join her cause, not that Ettie really had one. Or needed followers. Really she was only doing it because if Voldemort or even Tom found out she had thrown away the opportunity she would get tortured again, so.

"I think that's it for the upper and middle years. There's a few Second Years that I think have potential..."

They worked for another hour before Ebony, strung around her neck, started musing about eating Blaise. Ettie took that as her cue and left to do her stupid ass homework, taking the coded list with her.

It read:

_Tracey Davis--Third Year. Loyal to Greengrass but only because their families are close. Strengths in information gathering and Potions. Manipulative, shrewd, but earnest._

_Marcus Flint--Sixth Year. Brilliant at strategy, ruthless, not above dirty tactics. Family broke--needs patron to go anywhere in life. Water troll ancestry = enhanced strength, ability to breath under water._

_Chikelu Nwaike--Fifth Year. Transfer student from Uagadou, cheetah animagus by age eight. Transfiguration prodigy. Family killed by a Nundu cub let loose by neighbors. Wants revenge by ruining them economically and probably in more ways._

_Adrian Pucey--Fourth Year. Family has extensive international connections through business network. Already scouted by numerous professional Quidditch leagues. Family disapproves of this dream and needs powerful support to go against them._

_Millicent Bulstrode--Third Year. Aggressive in defense of family, presumably of friends too if she had any. Dumb muscle. Good in a fight. Small family of no real importance but plenty of ambition._

_Theodore Nott--Third Year. High intelligence, resourceful, Runes prodigy. Family AND SELF loyal to the cause of the Dark Lord. Also major black market exporters._

_Henrik Jörsson--Seventh Year. Earned an early Mastery in CoMC. Distant cousins to the Reigning Princess of Magical Norway. Needs more connections in Magical Britain._

_Cecilia Fawcett--Second Year. Only heir to Fawcett alchemical dynasty. Lonely, bitter, desperate for personal validation_.

Blaise was nothing if not through. Ettie had never known so much about her classmates. She started compiling her own, mental list of who to approach first.

1\. Bulstrode--safe bet.

2\. Fawcett--another safe bet, need numbers for Davis to consider joining.

3\. Davis--information gatherer vital, collaborate with Blaise to get more candidates 

4\. Jörsson--need an upper year to convince Flint and Pucey

5\. Pucey--need his international business connections to convince Nwaike

6\. Nwaike--have Pucey, should be easy

7\. Flint--enough upper years to appease his pride 

8\. Nott--hardest to convince, but I want him, dammit

Ettie nodded to herself and would never admit to stumbling down a step on the stairs as a sudden bellow of "Chess! CHESS! _CHESS_!" echoed through the air from somewhere below.

The crap? Who in Merlin's name would get so excited about _chess_?

...

Hermione beamed around the classroom. It had only been a few months, but already DAM had grown exponentially. There were plenty of familiar faces from Hogwarts, and a few she hadn't recognized.

"Alright, time for roll call!" she said. The room settled down the way it never would have at Hogwarts.

"Katie Bell."

"Here!"

"Amelia Bishop."

"Yo."

"Michael Corner."

"Present."

"Cedric Diggory."

"Here, Hermione."

"Michael Frost."

"It's Mikey."

"Right, sorry. Anthony Goldstein..."

The rest of the class, Nellie Jones, Lily Moon, Padma and Parvati Patil, Sally-Anne Perks, Henry Steward, and Zacharias Smith, were all present as well.

Hermione, her job done, marked the last name off the list and sat down. They still had a few minutes before Sirius (disguised as a Muggleborn wizard from Australia) would arrive. She had just reached for a book when the room plunged into darkness.

Three weeks ago Hermione would have frozen up. Now she slid from her chair, one hand fetching her wand as the other flipped the desk over for cover.

Spells lit of the darkness and Hermione fired some hexes of her own in the direction they came from. Dimly she could see that the Patil Twins and Mikey had reacted similarly, having experienced one of Sirius' surprise lessons before. The rest of the students were panicking.

It didn't take long for Sirius to pick them off. Hermione was pleased to say she was the last to fall.

"All right you lot," Sirius bellowed in his thick Australian accent. "What did you do wrong?"

Hermione raised her hand immediately. Sirius called on her and the lesson continued from there.

...

Someone was following Ettie. They were terrible at it. She meandered through the halls, heading for her preferred ambush spot. She ducked around a corner, his in a secret passage, and waited. 

A blurry figure tip-toed down the corridor. Ettie rolled her eyes, stunned the badly disillusioned idiot, and continued on her way.

That was the second one this week. Didn't these people have better things to do?

...

Tom was planning a murder. He felt oddly nervous about it. The only person he had ever killed was Myrtle and that was an accident. Voldemort, having killed many dozens of people by now, seemed to forget this. 

As nervous as he was, Tom didn't feel guilty. The rest of the Wizarding World may not have known it yet, but they were at war. This wasn't even a murder, really--it was a tactical move meant to preemptively weaken the enemy. Nothing wrong with that.

Tom also knew that he was trying to rationalize taking a life for his own gain. He wasn't ashamed about that. It was a human response, and horcrux aside, Tom was still very much human. 

~Boy,~ his older self said, ~are you prepared?~

~Of course I am,~Tom scoffed lightly. ~It's like you don't know yourself at all.~

Voldemort shot him a warning look, which was better than the hex he would've gotten three months ago. He had been trying to acclimise Voldemort to sass, at least coming from Tom. He really didn't fancy watching his mouth for the rest of eternity. 

"Very well. We depart now."

They apparated, landing in a circle of Death Eaters outside the manor of Bartemis Crouch. 

The Ward Breakers among them had already broken down the protections around the house, drawing their own wards to keep their activities unknown. The rest of them ghosted inside. 

Tom, though he had never seen it, knew the house inside and out. Voldemort was a strict taskmaster. 

Lucius went to deal with the house elf as the Lestrange brothers took up guard outside of Crouch's bedroom. The remaining people set about trashing the place.

Voldemort blasted the door off its hinges and floated inside. Taking a deep breath, Tom followed. 

...

Barty knew something was happening when he woke up in complete control of his own body. He laid still, testing his control by twitching each muscle group at a time. Everything responded as it should. Barty slowly reached for the inhibitor around his wrist. He slid it off and shuddered as his sense of his magic returned in a rush.

A scream echoed down the hall. Barty lunged to his feet, stumbling from his bedroom (cell). Father hadn't bothered to lock the door in years.

Another scream pierced the air. Barty lurched up the stairs two at a time, ignoring the shredded furniture and broken glass littering the floor. His heart raced, mind putting together the pieces it had been incapable of processing. 

The blackening Dark Mark. The newspaper Winky snuck him--Death Eaters escaped. His father's foul, almost panicked moods.

The Dark Lord had risen again. 

Barty slowed as he heard voices, in case he was wrong, in case this wasn't the justice of the Dark Lord. 

"Lord Voldemort is merciful," a smooth, icy hiss slithered into his ears. Barty could have cried. He threw off his invisibility cloak and stumbled towards the master bedroom.

A familiar wand stopped him. Barty tore his sleeve up, showing his Mark. Rabastan gasped and Rodolphus silently stepped back, allowing him access to the room.

Barty entered on unfeeling legs. His father was splayed out on the floor, fully conscious, with his intestines spilling out. But that wasn't what drew his eye. There in Barty's own home stood the Dark Lord, glorious and terrifying and wonderful. His red eyes turned to Barty. 

"My Lord," Barty whispered. 

"Barty," the Dark Lord returned. His mouth spread into an chilling smile. "So you survived; I am glad."

A flush of warmth spread through him from head to toes.

"Thank you, my Lord."

"Rise now, Barty." He hadn't even realized he'd fallen. He stood.

"It's odd how fathers disappoint, is it not?" the Dark Lord continued, surveying the whimpering mess of Bartemis Crouch Senior. "I killed my own father, and the experience changed me. I grew stronger, fiercer, less beholden to the weakness of sentiment and emotion. I now offer you this chance, Barty."

The Dark Lord extended his father's wand. Barty took it slowly, wood coming alive beneath his fingertips. 

He raised the wand and met his father's wild, rolling animal eyes. This pathetic creature was the man who robbed him of his life? Who all but killed his mother? Who stood against the glory of the Dark Lord?

Barty tried to summon enough hate to fuel the Killing Curse, but all he felt was pity. Pity and disgust, but that just wouldn't do. The Dark Lord was watching!

 _That's your father!_ a tiny voice screamed. _Are you really going to kill him?_

 _Yes_ , Barty replied. He closed his eyes and thought of Azkaban. Thought of his fa-of Bartemis Crouch denouncing him, disowning him in front of the Wizengamot. He thought of the long years of control and pain and the endless, soundless screaming in his head.

Barty opened his eyes.

...

Tom watched as Crouch went slack and still. So that was what death looked like. He hadn't been in the room when Myrtle was killed, and seeing it now was...fascinating. Somewhat distasteful, but Tom didn't think he would have any trouble doing it. Next time, he would.

Voldemort shot the Dark Mark into the sky above the house, where it hung, burning and ghostly. Their business finished, the group apparated back to Malfoy Manor where Bellatrix and her lot would meet them.

Unfortunately, it wasn't long before Voldemort hissed and Tom sat up straight in his chair.

"My Lo-" 

"Bellatrix summons help. Tom, go with them. At once!"

Tom apparated, holding an image of Bones Manor in his head. He reappeared to a firefight and immediately caught a red-robed Auror with disembowling hex, fresh on his mind after what Voldemort did to Crouch.

Not allowing himself to think about his deeds, Tom plunged into the fray, far more reckless than he should have been and somehow getting away with it. 

Finally, the Death Eaters killed the Aurors and cornered Bones as she tried to call for reinforcements. Bellatrix tortured her idly, humming as the proud witch refrained from screaming for a full six seconds.

"I won't tell you anything," Bones spat, literally. She was all but foaming at the mouth.

"Aw, Ames," Bellatrix cooed. "You don't have to. You see, we already have everything we need. Your assistant, sweet little Seraphina? She's _ours_."

The despair in Bones' eyes was admittedly entertaining, but Tom felt himself growing restless as she was tortured further. What was it with these people and inflicting pain before they killed someone? Death was already the ultimate punishment.

Tom stood there as Bones' arms were shattered, as her fingernail were pulled out. He watched, unwilling to admit his queasy stomach even to himself, as they stripped her naked and slashed at her breasts. He looked away when Bellatrix started to _touch_ her.

"...please..."

The trembling whisper snapped his attention back to the--the _horror_ before him. Bones' remaining eye, vivid blue and bloodshot, looked past the half dozen laughing Death Eaters to meet Tom's gaze. 

His resolve hardened.

Tom strode forward, knocking vermin out of his way. He stopped right in front of Bones.

"Avada Kedavra."

She slumped, a tear running from her glassy eye. For the first time, Tom understood what people meant by 'the sweet release of death'. Even the screaming emptiness of the Diary, the closest thing to death Tom could conceptualize, would be better than what Bones was going through.

The Death Eaters were dead silent. Tom turned on his heel, finding Bellatrix mere inches behind him. He returned her glare with one of his own.

She grabbed his face and apparated.

Tom found himself thrown to his knees before his older self as Bellatrix explained what he had done.

~Is this true, boy?~

~Yes,~ Tom said simply.

~Why?~

He shrugged, though his heart was beating too fast. ~They were taking too long to kill her. I was bored.~

Voldemort chuckled softly. ~The eagerness of youth. I, too, struggled not to simply kill my prey when I was young. You will learn.~

 _Like hell_ , Tom thought.

~Unfortunately, your impatience resulted in disobedience. I cannot have my Death Eaters following your example.~

Tom braced himself. 

"Crucio!"

...

Ettie woke abruptly, hand creeping towards her wand as she kept her breathing deep and regular.

"Don't bother, it's just me."

"Tom. You sound terrible." Ettie sat up, lighting her wand. "You _look_ terrible."

His face, already pale, glowed a ghostly white. There were broken blood vessels in and around his eyes, giving him a creepy mask of dark veins. 

"The Cruciatus tends to do that," Tom agreed hoarsely. He leaned against her bed post like it was the only thing keeping him up.

"The crap did you do? And sit down before you fall over."

Tom practically collapsed onto the bed, squashing her feet under his thighs. 

"I killed someone," he said. 

"But isn't Voldemort, like, pro-killing?" Ettie asked after a pause.

"Oh, he is. But I killed her to end her misery, and they wanted her to suffer more. And Voldemort cannot tolerate disobedience."

Ettie didn't know what to say. I'm sorry? That's messed up? Sucks to be you? 

What she ended up blurting out was, "Stay the night."

"I beg your pardon?" Tom sounded genuinely baffled. Ettie grimaced. 

"Stay the night. After Quirrel, I wish I...You shouldn't be alone tonight."

"I'm not weak," Tom hissed.

"Neither am I, jerk. I'm just trying to help."

"I don't need help," he sneered.

Ettie cocked her head to the side. "Then why did you come here?"

Tom tried to get up in response, but Ettie pulled her feet out from under his legs and threw them over his lap instead. As exhausted as he was, this was enough to prevent him from leaving. 

"There. You're not accepting help, help is being forced upon you. Now go to sleep, you need it. I've been tortured before, so I know what I'm talking about."

" _No_. Get off me," Tom snapped.

" _No_. Go to sleep," Ettie replied. 

Tom tried again to shove her legs off and sit up. Ettie tensed her muscles, pinning him down. He gave up after several seconds, breathing raggedly. Ettie was honestly impressed. She hadn't even been able to walk after the Cruciatus. 

After maybe half an hour of intermittent escape attempts--though noticeably he never used his wand--Tom sighed.

"Fine, I'll stay here for the night. Just let me up."

"Truth?" Ettie said suspiciously.

"Truth, dammit."

Ettie retracted her legs. Trembling, Tom scooted so he was laying down next to her, careful not to touch their bare skin together. 

"Nox," Ettie said, extinguishing the light. She shoved her pillow at Tom, who accepted it wordlessly, and flopped onto her side to get some damn sleep.

Just one problem.

There was a boy in her bed. A incredibly attractive boy with an honest, too-sharp smile. Who radiated heat and smelled...really good. Spicy and smoky and _yeah, she was going to stop thinking about it._

Tom shifted and suddenly she could feel his breath on her hair. Ettie held her own breath instinctively and then scowled at herself. So what if he was breathing on her? He was human! Humans breathed!

Ettie inched away, closed her eyes, and did her damndest to sleep. Five minutes later there was a surprisingly strong arm against her spine, so warm it bordered on hot, even through the sheets.

Was he doing that on purpose? He was, wasn't he?

Testing her hypothesis, Ettie pulled away and waited. Sure enough, before ten minutes were up, something that _better_ have been a knee was poking into the back of her leg.

"Riddle," Ettie said clearly, "if you want to keep it, _move it_."

He laughed, the absolute madman, and rolled heavily away. Soon after his breathing deepened in apparent sleep. Ettie waited, but it seemed he was actually asleep. She joined him moments later. 

...

Tom was gone when Ettie woke up. She told herself she wasn't disappointed by this, just like she told herself she wasn't pleased that his smell lingered in her sheets and on her pillow.

...

"Where did you go, boy?" Voldemort questioned disinterestedly. 

"To sleep with a girl," Tom replied, examining his fingernails, which were cracked from clawing at the floor.

"...what."

Tom smiled.

...

After some debate, Ettie decided to approach gathering her people (that sounded better than followers) the same way she approached gathering Blaise. It worked once, right? And if it ain't broke...

Blaise, of course, disagreed. 

"I don't think the likes of Flint won't respond particularly well to those, ah... _methods_."

"Relax already. I probably won't with the upper years."

"'Probably?' Oh yeah, that makes me feel SO much better."

"Leave the sarcasm to me, Blaise, it's not a good look on you."

"In beg to differ! Everything looks good on me."

"Including humility?"

"Please, that doesn't work for anyone."

...

Ettie tried recruiting Bulstrode by pulling her into an alcove. This got Ettie punched in the face and Blustrode's eyes hexed out of her skull.

Funnily enough, she still decided to join Ettie. After she was released from the hospital wing, of course. 

...

Ettie, being stubborn, decided to try the alcove thing one last time. It worked out beautifully...though Fawcett may have been a touch more frightened of Ettie than was productive. 

...

It had been three weeks since Ettie collected Bulstrode and Fawcett, which mostly consisted of Bulstrode and Blaise flanking her whenever they were in public, with Fawcett trailing behind holding Ettie's bag. They sat together at meals and did homework together in the library. It was...almost like having friends, only they did everything she said without question. Except Blaise, but he was special.

Anyway. Ettie anticipated recruiting Davis would be the first difficult bit. She was reported by Blaise to be cold, standoffish, with high standards and high expectations.

Blaise was wrong. Davis practically fell into her arms. Apparently she was just very good at acting and playing hard to get with no avail. So that was three down, five to go. 

...

Ettie aimed to coerce Jörsson before Christmas break, so she had Davis look into traditional ways of winning favor in Wizarding Norway. Apparently combs were a safe bet.

So she had Fawcett deliver a sleek comb transfigured from a river pebble and a note with Ettie's name. 

A week later Jörsson sat down with Ettie's group at breakfast and presented her with a shiny black comb, the kind that stays in your hair. It was carved out of pure dragonstone, a type of obsidian formed from dragon fire. AKA stupid expensive. 

"I accept your alliance," was all he said.

And Ettie was halfway done with her preliminary list.

...

"She's just like him," Minerva said over tea, her eyes dark and lips pinched together, "gathering _followers_ instead of friends. There's something wrong, Albus."

Albus felt his brow wrinkle. Minerva's reports and his own observations painted two very different pictures of the same child.

"Watch her," he said finally, "and if these developments continue, alert me at once."

"Of course."

Albus finished his tea, made small talk for a few minutes, and departed with a heavy heart. Little 'Ettie' Potter was a reflection of his failures—frightened and broken where she should have been safe and healthy. He had done wrong by her and hoped to mend some of the damage. But now he wondered if that damage wasn't all done due to his negligence, if perhaps it was something entirely more sinister.

...

Ron wasn't proud to say that the Queen's Gambit Club hadn't gotten much done since their formation. 

They'd brainstormed plenty of memorable, hilarious, and mildly disturbing ways of getting the Shrew Queen expelled. They'd tried following her but apparently she had eyes on the back of her head under that mess of hair. And the Twins, previously capable of finding anyone anywhere, had suddenly lost that ability.

So really, all they had to show for themselves was a pile of improbable strategies and a whole lot of frustration. Or, Ron was frustrated, at least. He wanted to avenge his friends and his little sister! But the rest of the club seemed content with what they'd done so far. 

Well, all that would change as soon as they came back from Christmas break. Ron wouldn't tolerate this _slacking_ any longer.

(Hermione was very proud.)

...

Christmas break had arrived. Remus had to admit he was grateful--teaching children was more exhausting than he had anticipated, and he'd expected it to be plenty difficult. And now he had more stress to look forward to, in the form of the Order of the Phoenix being recalled.

What was left of them anyway.

Remus couldn't help but sigh as he walked up the steps to the designated meeting place, Mad-Eye at his side. It just wouldn't be the same without James and Lily and Peter ( ~~and Sirius)~~ , not to mention the dozen other people who had been killed in the war.

"Here," Mad-Eye said, shoving a piece of paper in Remus' hand. He read it, stopped, and took a deep breath. Remus calmly set the paper on fire and turned to Mad-Eye. 

"Is there a particular reason the Order of the Phoenix is meeting in Sirius Black's childhood home?" he asked mildly, barely keeping a snarl out of his voice. 

"Yes," Moody growled, shoving Remus towards the front door. It opened to reveal none other than the man, the _murderer,_ himself.

"Shit, Moony, don't--"

Remus punched the fucking traitor in the face and followed him to the ground, straddling his hips and jabbing his wand into Black's neck. Then a strong hand clamped down on Remus' shoulder, pulling him off.

"He's innocent," Mad-Eye said plainly, before Remus could process this new development. "Pettigrew was the Death Eater. Don't go killing him, Lupin, you'll regret it."

And then he limped away, leaving Remus alone with the man he had hated and loved more deeply than any other in his life. 

Remus stared at Black, his lip bleeding and chest heaving, and wondered what if would do if Moody's insane story turned out to be true.

...Probably punch him again.

"You have a minute," Remus rasped. Sirius, still sprawled in the ground, jolted into action.

"Wormtail was the Secret Keeper," he blurted. "He-I-we thought nobody would suspect him but--he was the traitor and--I shoud've killed--but he cut off his finger and blew up the street and got away!"

Remus stared, mind whirling, but all he could think was _shit that sounds plausible_. Peter had always been the sneakiest of them, always with a lie on the tip of his tongue. And the Sirius he thought he knew would have died before joining the Dark Lord. 

"You," Remus had to stop and clear his throat, "if you really switched Secret Keepers. Why--why wouldn't tell me?"

Sirius' face crumpled.

"We thought..." He didn't finish the thought. Remus felt his heart, already so shattered, break a little more.

"You thought I was the traitor."

Sirius winced, scrubbing his hand through his hair in the familiar tick he got from James. "You were always gone. The wolf seemed closer to the surface. We didn't know what to think."

"Whatever," Remus said harshly. "Let's say I believe you. Why now? If you could escape all along, why would you wait over a decade to do it?" Why would you leave me alone for so long?

Sirius blinked. "You haven't read the news recently."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

He barked a bitter laugh, finally sitting up. "Because it was in the papers. Ron's rat was really Wormtail, and the boy brought him to Azkaban. Before then...I had no reason to escape. I deserved it."

Remus punched him again, this time in the shoulder. "No _reason_? What about Harry!? Your _goddaughter_ , remember her?"

"She had you," Sirius said defensively. "And I'd--I'd failed her so completely, I couldn't let myself go unpunished. And let's be honest, I wouldn't have done her a lick of good anyway--"

"But she didn't have me!" Remus yelled. "The laws--after the war, the Ministry banned werewolves from adopting wizard children!"

Someone deeper in the house started screeching about Muoodbloods and filth. 

"But--but surely you visited?"

"No," Remus snarled. "Her guardians wouldn't let me. I tried, but I--I didn't even speak to her until this year."

"Who the hell are her guardians? Alice and Frank--"

"Are in St Mungos, permanently. Harry was raised by _Petunia_."

"PETUNIA?! What was the Ministry thinking?! Petunia hated Lily!" Sirius said, aghast.

"I'm well aware," Remus said. "It was the worst place she could have gone. That girl..."

"She's not what the kids say, is she?" Sirius asked anxiously. Remus frowned.

"No, of course not. ...How do you know what the kids say?"

"Dumbledore's school," he said, "I'm disguised as an instructor there and all the students seem to hate her. I've been so worried..."

The last of Remus' suspicion melted away. If Dumbledore knew, believed, and let Sirius around children then he really was innocent. His best friend didn't kill their brother and sister.

"Moony? Merlin, are you okay mate? Was it something I said?" 

Sirius was working himself up into a right panic, highly reminiscent of their school days. It took years off his face. Remus laughed wetly and embraced him. Sirius hugged back immediately, surprisingly strong for someone who spent the last twelve years locked up in a tiny cell. 

"Tell me about Harry?" Sirius asked once they were done hugging (and crying). 

"Of course," Remus said immediately. They relocated to a criminally filthy sitting room. "Harry is....well, first of all no one calls her that. Even her friends just call her Potter. But you know Slytherins. Their friendships are always odd."

He carefully didn't mention Minerva's suspicions. Sirius had heard enough poison about his goddaughter already and they were unfounded, besides.

"Slytherin? But I thought she was a Ravenclaw!"

Remus grimaced. "Ravenclaw kicked her out. It wasn't unanimous, but only two people actually protested the motion. So...Slytherin."

Sirius looked outraged. "They kicked our Harry out? ...I always knew the 'Claws were a bunch of prisses. But what is she like?"

"Wary," Remus answered. "She's been hurt very badly by several people, I think. Careful, for the same reasons. She's also one of the most self-assured teenagers I've ever met, or else frighteningly brilliant at faking it. Stubborn as all hell, too. She's a lot like Lily in that. She definitely got Lily's smarts as well. Her reports say she ignored homework and theory completely her first two years, and yet she has straight Is now."

"Sounds more like James than Lily," Sirius commented wistfully. "She worked hard for every mark. Prongs just skated through it all."

"That's true," Remus said. "Merlin, she used to get so frustrated with him over it."

"Adorable, that was."

They sat in silence for a moment, nursing bittersweet memories. Sirius evidently strayed down one of the darker paths that Remus religiously avoided, because he shuddered and broke the silence. 

"What does she do for fun?" he asked quickly. 

"Research new and inventive ways to curse somebody," Remus said, not mentioning the bi-weekly dueling lessons with Snape. "And exploring the castle. I stole the map back from a young pair of mischief makers who used it to torment her. I regretted it, mind you, because now she uses it to torment _me_."

"She does pranks?" Sirius was delighted. 

"Some. She also has flocks of over-eager young Slytherins at her beck and call who are more than up to the challenge."

"So strange." Sirius shook his head, eyes distant. "Our little Bambi, one of the snakes? James would be-"

"James would be overjoyed," Remus said sharply, "to have such a daughter. He would love her no matter her colors: red or green, blue or yellow. And we should too."

"Of course I'll love her even if she's a Slytherin!" Sirius said indignantly. "I'm not like my mother!"

"I know you're not," Remus assured him, easy as anything, as if he hadn't spent the last twelve years thinking just that. The absurdity of it hit hard. He had Padfoot back. Peter was the traitor. But James and Lily were still dead...

"I missed you, Pads," Remus confessed. Sirius pulled him into another right hug.

"Same here, Moons. But I'm not leaving you this time."

...

Ettie wasn't sure what to expect from Christmas spent with two Dark Lords and a host of Death Eaters. Voldemort had transitioned to a new base of operations, one Riddle Manor, under the Fidelius Charm. Bellatrix Lestrange was the Secret Keeper, which meant she couldn't permanently reside in the house she protected. Ettie was glad. What Tom had told her...yeah, it was for the best. Poor Baby Malfoy though, having to deal with his psychotic aunt. 

Ettie heaved her trunk off the train, nodding farewell to Blaise and her followers. They gave shallow bows in return. She walked away before she could be cornered by any of their curious parents, scanning the platform for Tom. 

She found two of him. Tom himself and an older version that had to be Voldemort, judging by the throbbing in her scar. When she reached them, they each grasped her by a shoulder and apparated without saying a word. 

Rude.

When they landed, Tom's hand lingered on her arm. She slapped it away, ignoring the sting it caused. 

"Come," Voldemort said, sweeping off down the hall. Ettie looked around as she walked. It was all very Slytherin for an originally muggle home, but she supposed magic made interior decorating a breeze.

"What torture is it this time?" Ettie muttered to Tom. He grinned that honest grin. 

"Oh, another ritual. This time tomorrow we'll be able to touch without any problem. Aren't you excited?"

"Shove off," Ettie said on complete automatic. Internally, her stomach had begun to twist. The last ritual she participated in resulted in a lot of pain, soul-deep violation, and a coma. She wasn't exactly eager to repeat the experience. And what if she missed school? If she failed because of the stupid ritual Voldemort better not hold it against her!

"Relax," Tom said. "It won't be like the last one."

Ettie nodded once, not sure if she believed him or not. Tom was complicated. First he's a kidnapping torturer. Fine, it sucks but she can deal. But then he goes ahead and saves her from an eternity of sleep for no discernible reason. And finally he turns into an actual human being who was upset about a mercy-killing and flirted with her, though Merlin only knew why. 

But no matter how human he was, she still couldn't trust him. She couldn't trust anybody in this world.

On that happy note, they reached the ritual room. Ettie stuck her nose in the air and marched inside, refusing to betray her fear. Whatever it was, she would survive it. That was all that mattered. 

"Hand," Voldemort commanded. Ettie held it out, staring him straight in the eye. Voldemort's lips quirked up slightly. He held the eye contact as he drew the knife across her palm. 

Instead of letting it fall, Tom collected the blood in a fancy looking cup. Voldemort took the goblet, turning from her and holding it up. He chanted a few archaic sounding phrases and took a swig. Ettie gagged, disturbed by the cannibalistic turn to the proceedings. Voldemort handed the cup to Tom, who made a face at it. 

"Essence of Potter," he said, "disgusting."

He plugged his nose and downed the blood like it was a shot. A thin stream of it escaped his mouth, trickling down his chin. With his dark hair, reddish eyes and pale skin, Tom had never looked more like a vampire. He wiped at the droplet, smearing it across his face. Then he just looked psycho. 

A hand snapped out and grasped her chin. Ettie swore, pulling away, but Voldemort held fast. 

"I can touch you," he mused, turning her face this way and that. "Such an insignificant achievement, and yet...hm." He pressed a long finger directly to her scar and all Ettie felt was a faint tugging sensation. 

Satisfied, Voldemort let go. Her skin tingled where he touched her.

"Leave me," he dismissed. Ettie obeyed quickly, but Tom lingered. 

"You as well, boy."

"Actually, I was wondering if I might speak with you-"

A loud sizzling noise and Tom's aborted yelp. Ettie paused just outside the door. 

"You may not."

A few seconds later Tom emerged with a furious light in his eyes and a welt on his cheek. He strode past without looking at her. Ettie followed silently.

"What are you doing," Tom said flatly, two floors later.

"Following you," Ettie replied. 

"Well don't," he snapped. "I don't need your pity."

"It's not pity. I just don't know where my room is and I'd rather not wander around like a moron."

A muscle pulsed in his jaw. Ettie readied herself to dodge, but he just let out an explosive breath.

"Follow."

"You sound like Voldemort," Ettie said, following anyway.

"It's only natural," Tom replied, but he sounded annoyed. They walked in silence. 

The Death Eaters they passed gave Tom a shallow nod and either ignored or glowered at Ettie. She sneered back, startling some of them, who probably expected someone more like the Harry Potter of the original world. Glad to disappoint. 

"This is you," Tom said, gesturing to a door with a snake head doorknob. There was an identical door on either side. The only differences were the color of the snakes' eyes. Ettie's were poison green. The other two were red in the same shade as Tom and Voldemort's eyes. Cute.

"Neighbors again," she commented inanely, and immediately cursed herself for it.

Tom scoffed and entered his own room, slamming the door shut. Ettie flipped said door off and then followed his lead.

...

That night, Ettie dreamed first that she was Voldemort torturing a muggle to death and second that she was Tom Riddle, taking a potions exam she hadn't studied for. Then she dreamed that she was back at Hogwarts in the Slytherin dorms with the both of them.

"Interesting," Voldemort commented, looking around.

"Great," Ettie complained, "as if I don't get enough of you two in real life! Get out of my dream, Voldemorts!"

"I...don't think that's how this works," Tom said slowly. 

"Well how does it, then?" she bit out. 

"Not sure yet."

The dream shifted with the strangest feeling, like she was a radio changing frequencies. Ettie was now soaring over the Forbidden Forest on a broomstick, the wind rushing through her hair...

...

"Ginny," Ron said quietly. His sister just stared blankly at the space above his head, eyes going in and out of focus. He took her hand and she finally looked at him. Her skin was cold and clammy. 

"...Yeah?"

"I asked if you had any ideas about how to make Potter pay," Ron reminded her. Her eyebrows furrowed.

"Why would we do that?"

"Because she framed you!" Ron burst out. Ginny shrunk in on herself and then he felt bad. 

"No, I...it was me, Ron. I did all those things."

"You didn't, Gin. You would never!" 

"Stop talking about it!" Ginny yelled suddenly, clutching at her hair. "It was ME! I did it! SHUT UP!"

"That's just what she's made you think," Ron persisted, used to his sister's abrupt mood changes. 

"GO AWAY!"

Ron tried to talk her around, but Ginny had always been extraordinarily stubborn. Ron left eventually to give the Twins their turn, more determined than ever to give Potter what she was due.

...

"Ettie, meditate before bed tonight."

"Don't call me that. Why?"

"So we can replicate last night's dream, hopefully."

"What."

"Meditating orders the mind, and your's is alright for someone untrained in Occlumency, but it could be much better."

"...Okay. So that was real?"

"Yes, do keep up."

"Geeze, sorry. I don't know how to meditate."

"I'll show you then. Come over here."

...

Christmas day arrived with fresh snowfall, a beautiful sunrise, and screams echoing through the mansion. Ettie considered it a new character defect that her first response was to roll over and shove her head under the pillow.

She heard Tom swear loudly and throw something at the wall and distantly wondered why the hell magical houses didn't have magical soundproofing. Ettie cast a muffling charm over her bed and went back to sleep.

Two minutes later something heavy and warm and _heavy_ landed across her back. The breath left her in a rush. A hand clamped down over her own before she could draw her wand the curse the intestines out of whoever had the sheer nerve to _jump on her_ while she was sleeping. 

Woodsmoke and spice filled her nostrils. 

"Riddle, what the hell?!"

"You were ignoring me. I don't like being ignored."

Ettie just lay there for a second, absorbing the sheer childish petulance in that statement. She let her head fall back into the mattress.

"Muffling charm, Riddle. I couldn't hear you. Now get off!" She tried to twist her hands out of his grip but Tom held fast. Ettie tried really hard not to think of what their position would look like to anybody else. He was sitting on her lower back, pinning her wrists above her head. Suggestive, anyone?

"Hmph, fine."

He rolled off and let her go. Ettie almost fell out of bed in her haste to sit up. When she looked back over at Tom, he was casually sprawled out with his head propped up on his hand, wearing silk pajamas and a head full of messy curls.

Damn it.

"Go away," Ettie ordered, for all the good it would do.

Tom appeared to think it over. "Nah," he decided. "I can't sleep."

"What does that have to do with me? Cast your own muffling charm!"

"Absolutely not. You just demonstrated how easily it makes it to sneak up on you. And I wasn't trying to sneak in the slightest," he sniffed. 

"I still don't get why this is my problem," Ettie said, sitting awkwardly on the edge of her bed. Which had a boy in it. Again. 

"It's Christmas, isn't it? Just thought I'd spread the holiday cheer."

"Oh yeah?" Ettie sneered, crossing her arms. "Where is this holiday cheer? Up your ass?"

Tom sighed and flopped over on his back, arms crossed behind his head. Ettie tried really hard not to notice the pale strip of flesh that appeared above his waistband. It was surprisingly toned. Not that she was noticing!

Ettie looked away, only to meet Tom's eyes. He was smirking, crooked and dimpled and _screw that noise_. Ettie grabbed her pillow and slammed it into his face. He wrenched it off, sputtering in apparently genuine shock as she laughed.

His eyes narrowed. 

The next thing Ettie knew, she was sprawled on her butt on the floor, a pillow against her chest. She drew her own wand to match the one in Tom's hand. She hurled a tickling charm his way, returned with an itching hex.

They continued to fight, using only low level prank spells, pillow projectiles, and occasionally bedding as snares or trip wires. Their duel ended, as usual, with Ettie flat on her back with Tom's wand at her throat. Well, sort of. This time it was his pillow. 

"Yeild?" he laughed.

"Yeild," Ettie agreed. She might have been smiling. Maybe.

Tom hopped up and extended a hand. Ettie took it with only minimal hesitation. 

"Happy Christmas," he offered, still smiling.

"Merry Christmas," Ettie replied on autopilot.

"I still haven't figured out why you do that," Tom commented, sitting on her couch. Ettie cancelled the muffling charm on her bed and sat there. 

"Do what?"

"Talk like an American, of course," he said. "Did you visit much when you were younger?"

"I...no. Just too much TV I guess," she muttered. Her accent was more British than American now, and their words had slipped into her vocabulary, but other than that Ettie spoke as she had before death—like an American teenager in the 2020s.

"If you say so," Tom allowed, though the curious glint in his eyes didn't quite fade. 

"Did you get me a present?" Ettie asked, trying to shift his attention. 

"As a matter of fact, I did," Tom said loftily. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. He handed it to her and Ettie opened it slowly. Inside were two earrings, hoops in the form of a snake biting its tail. They were jet black and shiny, with little green emeralds for eyes.

"Pretty," Ettie said, running her finger over the carved scales of one snake.

"Don't be too flattered," Tom said, "they're only Transfigured."

But Ettie was more impressed, not less. Maybe it was her muggle roots showing, but being created personally, if not by hand, made something all the more precious.

"Well, your's I bought _and_ Transfigured, so be as flattered as you'd like," Ettie replied. She went to her trunk and found Tom's present. When she turned back around, Tom had finally schooled his expression of shock into something more neutral.

"You bought _me_ something?" Ettie rather thought the emphasis on the word 'me' was unintentional, judging by the way Tom winced almost imperceptibly after saying it. 

"Yep. Go on, take it."

Tom took the box as if it were a live bomb. Once he opened it, his shoulders relaxed into a chuckle.

"How fitting," he said. 

Ettie had gotten him a diary. Not just any diary, but one that resembled his original as closely as Ettie could manage. His initials were stamped in silver into the leather, as well as a small snake along the binding.

"Open it up," Ettie urged, digging her toes into the carpet. Tom did so.

"'A complete summary of all curses invented from nineteen fourth three to the present day. You're welcome, Ettie.' This is very useful, little love. Thank you," Tom said, smiling softly.

"Stop doing that," Ettie blurted. Tom frowned.

"Beg your pardon?"

"...That smile. It's too perfect."

"Well, I'm glad you think my smile is perfect, but I fail to see why I can't smile if you like it so much," Tom said. Ettie punched him in the arm.

"I _don't_ like it," she said stoutly. "It's—it isn't real."

"Oh darling, if you have trouble with fake smiles then I don't know how you'll survive Slytherin," he laughed.

Ettie groaned. Why was she so bad at words?

"No, it's not that. It's just that the worst, most dangerous people have perfect smiles and beautiful faces. All except you and Voldemort. Voldemort is...Voldemort. And your smile, your real smile, shows exactly what you are."

"How so?" Tom hummed, head cocked to the side and wand twirling between his fingers. 

"It's twisted," Ettie tried to explain. "Like you. It's broken and not very nice, but at least it's honest."

"Not many people have called me honest before," Tom said, blinking twice. "I'm not sure I like it."

Ettie rolled her eyes. "Fear not, O Liesmith. It's not you that's honest, just your smile."

Tom snorted. "Yes, I've been told my true grin is particularly disturbing."

"It is," Ettie said truthfully. "But again, that's what I like about it. You're a disturbing individual."

He flashed his true grin, tinged with gratitude, and Ettie's heart skipped a beat. They sat in silence for several moments, basking cautiously in the rare atmosphere of acceptance and care.

And then, of course, the screaming started up again.

...

"Ron!" Seamus called as he entered the common room. Seamus was one of the few who stayed over for Christmas break. "I had a brilliant idea for the club!"

"Oh sure," Dean grumbled, "greet Ron before your best mate. It's fine. I get it."

"Sorry," Seamus said, and then grabbed both of their hands, dragging them into the dormitory that still felt too empty without Neville. 

"So," he said excitedly, "Potter is going to blow you up!"

Ron blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Not for real, obviously," he said, waving the matter away. "But we're supposed to get her expelled, right? And who hates her more than anybody in the school? You! So it would make sense if she targeted you, then we catch her in the act!"

Ron flopped down on his bed. "So, lemme get this straight. You want to provoke Potter into trying to attack me? And then just hope she's not sneaky enough to get away with it...like she has every other time..."

"Well, when you put it like that." Seamus winced. But Dean frowned thoughtfully.

"It's a good idea, if we change one core detail: it's not actually Potter doing the attacking."

Ron was already shaking his head. "Polyjuice is a no, mate. I don't exactly fancy going to Azkaban, thanks."

"It wouldn't have to be you," Dean said. "One of the girls, Chang or Lavender maybe."

Ron was skeptical, but...Potter was the slipperiest snake he knew. She wouldn't get caught.

"Maybe," he decided. "We'll talk to the girls."

...

The girls were in. Now all they had to do was figure out who was going to do it...and how they were going to get their hands on Polyjuice without a genius like Hermione to brew it for them. And then an actual plan, of course.

...

Coming back to Hogwarts was like coming home after a long day to a place where almost everybody hated her. Pretty familiar, actually. She'd had that in both of her lifetimes.

"Welcome back milady!" Fawcett said eagerly. Her people were already waiting in the Alcove for her when Ettie got there. 

Ettie nodded at her. Fawcett reacted like she'd gotten a personal hello from the Queen or something.

"Potter," Jörsson greeted. "I hope you received my gift?"

"I did," Ettie said. "Thank you, it's lovely."

Though she did wonder what was up with people giving her snake themed items. Was it because she was a Parselmouth or a Slytherin? But the cobra necklace was indeed very pretty. She always did prefer chokers.

"Potter," Bulstrode said respectfully, echoed by Davis. She nodded at them both. Blaise didn't bother with a greeting. He just sprawled down on the couch beside Ettie, leg against hers. 

"What's our next move?" Davis asked, bouncing on her toes. 

"Pucey," Ettie said succinctly. "Ideas?"

...

Apparently, according to Davis, whose friend's mother's next door neighbor used to date Pucey, he was the rare type of Slytherin who greatly appreciated bluntness. 

So, Ettie fell back on her trusty grab-and-shove-into-a-dark-corner approach. Happy times! Unfortunately, Pucey was popular, which meant she couldn't catch him alone. 

Oh well.

Ettie stalked up to the group of upper years, grabbed Pucey's tie, and dragged him down the hall and around the corner, where she shoved him into an alcove. 

"No, you're not being murdered," Ettie said, getting that out of the way. "How do you feel about sticking it to your family and becoming a professional Quidditch player?"

His startled face split into a grin.

...

"Okay, so I wrote Hermione about the Polyjuice. Turns out she had a few extra doses that she ended up taking home with her, since she didn't know what to do with them."

The Queen's Gambit Club cheered.

"Ron," Percy cried, "you didn't put anything incriminating in that letter, did you?"

"No, of course not," Ron huffed. "It was all coded."

"You and Hermione have a code?" Lavender squealed. "That's so romantic!"

"Er...sure," Ron said. "Anyway, we need to know who's going to play Potter. Do any of you girls have acting experience?"

Lavender and a Hufflepuff girl (Ron thought her name was Abbott) both raised their hands.

"Okay, um. Both of you, just...act like you're Potter and, er, somebody is in your way and they're not moving. Dean, Boot, you two be in their way."

The club cleared a space for the four of them. There was an awkward moment when they both tried to go at the same time, but it was sorted out. Lavender went first.

She walked forward, eyes narrowed and a swing in her hips. 

"Move," she said icily.

"No," Boot said, folding his arms.

Lavender pulled out her wand. "I said. Move."

"And I. Said. No."

Lavender pretended to hex him. Boot fell dramatically to the floor and she stepped over him and sashayed away.

The club cheered.

"Nice, Lavender," Ron praised. She blushed prettily and curtsied. "Okay Abbott, now you."

Abbott took a deep breath and closed her eyes. When she opened them her spine was straighter, posture ruthlessly perfect. Her face was utterly blank.

She stalked forward, eyes boring into Dean, who took a half step back before remembering himself. When Dean didn't get out of her way, Abbott studied him silently, slid her wand out of her sleeve, and hexed him. For real. Then she walked over him, literally stepping on his chest.

The club was roaring as Abbott rushed back to Dean, fussing over him and apologizing.

Ron felt a slow smile spread across his face. This was actually going to work.

...

Sometimes Hermione wondered if the DAM was actually going to work. Dumbledore was a great man and a brilliant wizard, but he was quite...eccentric. And made awful budgeting choices.

Why did they need Auror-grade protective equipment for their duels? Why did they need a Pensieve? Why did they need a dozen other very expensive pieces of equipment better suited to training soldiers than children?

Honestly. If this didn't end soon, Hermione was going to consider asking Professor Dumbledore if she could plan their budget to 'get real world experience'.

...

Nwaike was easily won over once Tracey let slip to his best friend's brother that Harriet Potter had direct access to the heir of the Pucey family business. Once she had him, other Slytherins actually started approaching Ettie about joining her. She took the ones who didn't give up trying to curry favor after the first month and was quite pleased with the results. Flint was a piece of cake after that.

In fact, Ettie now had so many people that the Alcove was no longer suitable, as it couldn't be safely expanded anymore at their current skill level. Ettie had considered a few different possible meeting places, including the Room of Requirement. But in the end she settled on none other than the Chamber of Secrets.

Only she, Tom and Voldemort could get in, so it was completely secure. It was spacious enough for their purposes. There were several different rooms which could be used for any number of things.

Really, the only drawback was the ginormous Basilisk in the Slytherin statue, but Ettie had made a quick trip back down (with a rooster, just in case) and it obeyed her just like any other snake. So as long as nobody figured out to say 'Speak to me, Slytherin, Greatest of the Hogwarts Four' in Parseltongue, everything would be fine.

...

Remus was worried about Harry. Minerva's words kept echoing in his mind as he watched her, an ever-growing flock of almost worshipful Slytherins following her every move. They called her 'milady'.

Harry wasn't a bad person. She wasn't nice, but he could see the kindness that colored her interactions with people who actually bothered to get to know her. She was gentle with the odd little Lovegood girl and playful with young Mr Zabini and even protective of her Housemates.

No, she wasn't bad. But Remy wondered if something more than the obvious had gone wrong that fateful Halloween night, if perhaps something of You-Know-Who's had lingered with her somehow, a silent shadow that influenced her unconscious mind.

He would have to talk with Albus about it next Order meeting. He was the only one other than Remus and Sirius who didn't believe Harry was a lost cause.

...

They had the Polyjuice. They had the actress. They had the victim, Ron himself. They even had enchanted parchments they could use to communicate with, courtesy of Hermione.

They had all the components needed to frame and expel Potter. All they needed was the plan...

...

"Harriet Potter?" Lovegood's voice interrupted her musings on the desiccation curse. Ettie looked up so fast her neck cracked. 

"Lovegood?"

Luna smiled. "Do you always answer a question with another question?"

"Do you?" Ettie shot back. 

"Sometimes, yes. I'd like to speak with you. The noble weasel has conspired with the kittens, fledglings and pups and is planning to take the Queen off the board."

Then she turned to walk away. Ettie reached out to grab her wrist, surprising herself. She hardly ever initiated physical contact. 

"Don't just run off," she huffed, reeling Lovegood back in. "I haven't seen you in forever."

Luna let out a quiet shriek of surprise and tripped over her own feet, falling directly into Ettie's lap. And Ettie was immediately transported back thirteen years. She wrapped her arms around Lovegood's waist and hooked her chin over her shoulder like she did it every day. Because not so long ago, she had. 

"Oh," Luna said happily. "I wasn't expecting that."

"Neither was I," Blaise muttered, eyeing the two of them closely. He looked as though he had gotten an unexpected gift, quietly delighted and yet confused. Ettie didn't like that look. Davis looked speculative, and was thankfully the only other one to witness her little lapse. Though since it was Davis, the rest of her followers would know by lunch unless drastic measures were taken.

Luna snuggled back comfortably. "You know, I rather thought you hated me."

"You thought wrong," Ettie said shortly. 

"Obviously. I mean, unless you cuddle all the people you hate." Lovegood suddenly sounded worried, as if such a thing were at all in the realm of possibility. 

"No, Luna, I don't."

"Ooh, and you called me Luna! Does this mean I can call you Harriet?"

Ettie grimaced. 

"Sorry," Luna said quickly, though she couldn't have possibly seen Ettie's face. 

"No, it's not that. Just...call me Ettie."

Luna gasped loudly. "You mean I can call you by your true name?!"

"Yes," Ettie snapped. "Don't go shouting about it."

Luna gave a quiet squeal and turned around, hugging her tightly. Ettie patted her on the back, quietly relishing the warmth of human contact. She met Davis' eyes over Loveg–Luna's shoulder.

"One word of this," she said quietly, "and nobody will find your body."

Davis gulped and nodded rapidly.

"Good." Ettie flicked her gaze to Blaise. "You, keep your mouth shut."

"Yes milady," he said, unable to hide a smile. 

Ettie nodded and went back to reading about obscure curses. 

...

"Milady? I–"

"Yes, Blaise, you can call me Ettie. Shut up."

"Yes milady."

...

Ettie wasn't sure what to make of Luna's prediction. Weasley was conspiring with Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff to take down the Queen–presumably her. Just her luck.

Ettie thought back to the chess club formed some months ago and swore. Everybody who knew Weasley knew he was a chess prodigy! She should have figured something was up.

She would have to be on her guard. And maybe do some spying. 

...

Armed with the Map and Cloak, Ettie followed Weasley to his little meeting spot. Unfortunately it was well-warded and none of her eavesdropping spells would work. Instead, Ettie noted every single person who attended the meetings. She placed them high on her shit list and started drafting lesson plans.

...

Ettie decided, since their enemies were moving en masse, that she should start training her people in earnest. Starting with re-re-opening the Chamber of Secrets, this time as a training ring. 

She was going to kick their butts to Hades and back, and she was going to enjoy every moment of it. 

...

Watching her Slytherins enter the Chamber of Secrets for the first time was like seeing little kids visit Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory. One fourth year teared up.

Ettie let them roam for a while, enjoying the wide-eyed joy on their usually blank baby-politician faces. Her core people had already been inside and were likewise enjoying themselves by seeming aloof and unaffected by the ancient splendor. 

Eventually, she nodded to Blaise and her main people. (Squad? Group? Inner Core?) silently gathered in front of her, catching the attention of the others. Soon after, two dozen Slytherins and one Ravenclaw were looking at her attentively. Ettie felt the slightest tingling of nerves. That was...quite a few people, every one of them dedicating themselves to her, a first class screw-up.

She shook the negative thoughts off. She didn't have time to be anxious. 

"Separate by Year," she ordered, "Seventh Years on the right, Firsties on the left."

They obeyed without delay, organizing themselves neatly in groups, including her...Inner Core. Circle? Inner Circle.

"I'm going to be testing each of you individually on your dueling skills," she said unceremoniously. "Adams, you're up."

The muscular Seventh Year stepped forward somewhat nervously. Ettie gave her exactly two seconds in which she should have been getting her wand out, then hexed her full in the face.

"Argh!"

"Wand," Ettie snapped. Adams, gritting her teeth, drew it and immediately threw a curse at Ettie. She sidestepped and returned fire, trying to get a feel for Adams' skill level. Once she thought she had a pretty good grasp, Ettie stunned the older girl and moved onto the next person.

It took all Saturday to test and divide her people into their groups. The most skilled would be facing one another and three inexperienced students in turns. The middling level would fight each other until they got used to that and then they'd go against two younger opponents. The least skilled she would work with the most, pairing them in twos and threes to teach them to fight as a unit and give them a leg up on more capable wizards.

...

"I'm stealing your students, Professor," Ettie told Snape, lying flat on her back in their designated dueling classroom. He had knocked her off her feet with a blast of unmolded magic and she hadn't bothered to get back up again.

"How's that working for you?" he sneered. 

Ettie groaned. "Merlin's shaggy beard, teaching is a pain! And mine are all very carefully _not_ idiots. How do you not commit murder every other day?"

"With great restraint and the occasional malt whiskey," he answered. "Now go to bed, brat. You have followers to abuse."

"They're not followers," Ettie whined. "They're just people–"

"Who follow you and do everything you say?"

"Shut up, Prof."

"Out, Potter."

"Night, sir."

...

"Again," Potter said placidly. Marcus would've bought it, too, if not for the faint smirk of enjoyment he had noticed earlier. He huffed a laugh and faced his three younger opponents.

He could appreciate a fellow sadistic slave-driver, even from the other end. And Potter fit the description to a tee.

...

Ettie made sure to face each of her people at least twice a month. It was good for their skills and her confidence, seeing as she actually won these duels, unlike every fight she'd ever had with Snape. 

Also, it was fun to watch their faces, usually so composed, fall with dread when she stepped in front of them. 

It was also admittedly fun to watch their progress. They had come so far in the last few months, Ettie could honestly say she was proud of them. The youngest ones most of all. She had two Firsties and three Second Years and they were all adorably bloodthirsty. And then there was Luna.

Luna, though you wouldn't expect it, was a beast on the battlefield. Not because she knew the most dangerous curses or had the fastest reflexes. It was because she was never doing what was expected of her. 

Ettie, who'd trained for months to become so unpredictable, was suitably impressed. She might have had a few proud mama moments when the tiny Second Year would take down a Fifth Year twice her size seemingly by accident, giggling and shrieking all the time.

Before long, Luna was so good that she fought on her own in the upper category. She wasn't the only one, of course. Bulstrode, Zabini and several other younger kids were just as good. She made sure to give her Inner Circle extra lessons too, just to keep them ahead of the pack. It wouldn't do for others thinking they could replace the Circle just because they were better duelers. 

...

"Harry? I was wondering if I might speak with you for a moment."

Ettie hesitated. On the one hand, she still hadn't forgiven Lupin. On the other hand, he was a fountain of information on both teaching and martial magic and she liked to pick his brain. Also he had chocolate.

"Sure," she said eventually. "You guys go on."

Davis, Bulstrode, and Blaise nodded and left, well used to this routine by now. Lupin smiled at her.

"You're gaining friends fast," he commented, letting her into his office, where she began to raid his chocolate stash. 

"Yeah," Ettie said lamely. "They're a pain, but..."

"But they're worth it," he finished, nodding. "It was the same for me in school. The things my friends got up to...well, let's just say we put those Weasley Twins to shame."

They sat in fairly comfortable silence for a while.

"What did you want to talk about?"

Lupin studied her carefully. Ettie blinked back. He cracked, face melting into a fond smile tinged with grief.

"Never you mind, Harry."

"...Okay," Ettie said slowly. "Can I have some more chocolate?"

He laughed. 

...

"Okay," Ron said, taking a deep breath. "Everybody ready?"

"Sir yes sir!" the Twins shouted. Everybody nodded or said 'yes' like a normal person.

"Okay. We strike today!"

The Twins whistled and the club cheered. "Very dramatic, Ronniekins! We approve!"

Ron grinned. 

Maybe it was dramatic. But by this time tomorrow, Potter would be gone. If that wasn't worth a little drama then what was?


	5. wearing a warning sign part two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank all those who commented. I know I don't respond, but I read every single one and they are fuel for my writing. This chapter is dedicated to you guys.

Hannah Abbott had rarely been as nervous as she was when she looked down at the vial of Polyjuice. It wasn't what she expected, admittedly. She had anticipated pure black sludge, or maybe a Slytherin green. Instead the Polyjuice had turned a deep shade of violet, shot through with veins of silver and pale blue. It looked pretty but dangerous, just like the girl herself.

"You got this," Susan said, clapping her on the back. Just looking at her made Hannah's resolve firm. Susan looked terrible, pale and drawn with dark smudges under her eyes. If she could still be kind and supportive to Hannah after her Auntie's murder, then Hannah could do her part in bringing Potter to justice. And maybe, if she did well, her mother would be proud.

Hannah swallowed the Polyjuice in one go. 

"Ready."

...

George Weasley had to admit it: he was pissed. Fred was the angry twin; George usually just got sad. But here he was, so furious he could cheerfully murder someone. Someone with black hair and green eyes that went by the name of Bitch Queen. 

_How dare she?_

Ginny was his baby sister, sweet and bright and so damn good. She didn't deserve what Potter landed her with in that loony bin. Potions that turned her mind inside out and set her emotions against her. Nobody deserved that, except maybe Potter herself. 

But now they had the chance to make her pay for it. And George was grabbing that chance with both hands and his teeth. 

...

Terry Boot was terrified, that he would admit easily. He wasn't even doing anything in the plan besides act as a silent watcher. Still, he had been frightened of Potter since last year when she ripped Ravenclaw Tower a new one over that Loony Lovegood. 

And if this didn't work out, Terry didn't doubt that she would follow through on the threats she made back then, and worse besides. Terry didn't want to go through that! But he didn't want his new friends in the club to either, which was a new experience for him. 

He'd never had friends before. He would do anything to keep them, including making sure Potter stayed down...no matter what.

...

Cedric didn't have anything against Potter, personally. She was a very sick, broken individual and his heart went out to her. She should have stayed in the Care Center, but she didn't. It was a disservice to her and all of them that the school wouldn't put her back in there. They would just have to do it, instead. 

So really, Cedric was doing this as much for Potter as the rest of Hogwarts.

...

"Okay Diggory, Fred and George, you're up," Ron said, feeling fairies fluttering in his stomach.

The three of them nodded, unusually solemn. Even Fred, who never took anything seriously, and George, who never got mad, looked both grim and angry. 

"I'll be waiting by the forest. Don't forget to signal when Potter arrives! And–"

"Relax, little brother," the Twins chorused.

"We've got this, Ron," Diggory said, giving him a smile that was probably supposed to be reassuring.

"Okay. Okay." Ron nodded. "Let's go."

...

Blaise was having a great day. His incredibly attractive Boss Lady had sat another very attractive blonde in her lap, which had all sorts of fun implications. Even if said blonde was a bit of an oddball. Then he got to see somebody else threatened with death while he was only told to keep his mouth shut. And then the Boss Lady let him call her Ettie, which was apparently her 'true name'!

Blaise whistled a little tune to himself as he went to get Ettie some more books from the Library. He was hurrying, he would admit. He didn't want to miss any potential snuggling back in the Alcove. 

Maybe that was why he didn't notice the Hufflepuff Firstie spying on him. Or maybe it was because Hufflepuff Firsties are invisible in general. Either way, the Firstie was a spy, Blaise didn't notice until it was too late, and the Weasley Twins got the jump on him.

"Well shite," Blaise said mournfully, staring up at the ceiling. His limbs were stuck together, his wand in a grubby Weasley hand, and the back of his head would surely have the lump of the century on it. 

The Demon Twins high-fived the giggling Firstie right over Blaise's face, which was just rude. But what else can you expect from duffers and blood traitors?

"Alright Slythergit," one bloodtraitoring twin said gleefully. "Scream as much as you want, nobody can hear you!"

Blaise stared as deadpan as he could, though internally his mind was racing. "As if I would scream because of a couple of filthy little–mph!"

One of them stuffed. An actual sock. In his mouth! Blaise gagged and spat as forcefully as he could but nothing worked. The Twins were laughing as they levitated him into a secret passage and out of the castle.

He hopped the Boss Lady killed them slowly.

...

'Got Zabini.' —Twins

Cedric tucked away his parchment, took a deep breath, and began sprinting down the hall. He ran down two corridors, skidded to a halt and knocked rapidly on a wooden frame just outside of the alcove that Potter and her ilk frequented. There was a long pause before a tan skinned Slytherin girl, Tracey-something, ducked around the privacy curtain, which was spelled to Hades and back. They'd checked.

"What?" she said coldly.

"Is Potter here? I really need to speak with her," he said quickly.

Tracey ducked back behind the curtain without another word. Cedric found himself sending up a prayer to the gods that this would work. A moment later, Potter herself stepped out into the hall. She raised a single eyebrow.

"It's Zabini," Cedric said, "there's this sort of organization led by Ron Weasley–they're using him to get back at you! I saw the Weasley Twins taking him towards the Forbidden Forest!"

She was still. For one awful second, Cedric thought Ron had miscalculated. Maybe Potter wasn't as invested in her friends as he thought. But then Potter sprung into action.

"Davis," she barked, "alert the others. Luna, go get a teacher. Hufflepuff, take me to Blaise, and if you're lying I'll have your skin on my wall. Move!"

...

'Potter and Diggory on their way. Go now.' — Terry

Hannah closed her eyes and called up her Potter Persona. Impatient confidence fell around her like a cloak. Her face was wiped clean of an emotions. She strode down to where Ron and the Slytherin boy were waiting. The witnesses followed her at a distance, hiding themselves in the undergrowth. 

"Let him go," Hannah said softly, "or I'll have your skin as a pelt."

The relief in Zabini's eyes almost made her feel guilty. Ron, upon hearing the predetermined words, relaxed nearly imperceptibly. 

"How about no," Ron growled, taking out his wand with an unnecessary amount of flourish. Hannah eyed him with silent amusement, slipped her wand from her sleeve like a viper, and hexed him. But Ron was ready, of course. 

He lunged to the side and directed a barrage of sharp rocks not at Hannah, but at Zabini. 

"No," Hannah hissed, throwing up a shield in front of the Slytherin. She 'disarmed' Ron with a silent flick of her wand and slammed him to the ground. 

"You attacked him," Hannah seethed, "he's mine, and you would have hurt him."

Ron spat at her. "You Slytherins deserve it," he said dramatically. Hannah swung her hand back and slapped him, hard, mentally apologizing. 

"I could get you expelled for that," Hannah mused. "What If he'd been killed? Attempted murder at age thirteen. Maybe you'll be able to see your sister in the loony bin."

That was a low blow, and not in the script, but Ron acted better when it wasn't all acting. 

"Don't talk about my sister!" he yelled.

"You're right. We should talk about you." She began to circle him, tall heels snapping twigs like dry bones. "A single Gryffindor, all alone in the Forest...something bad might happen."

"What are you saying?" Ron asked uneasily, starting to strain against the magic holding him down. 

"I'm saying I'm getting tired of your continued existence," Hannah said, "and I think it's time you disappear. Zabini, love, do me a favor and close your eyes."

He startled, eyes narrowing. "What did you say, _Potter_?" 

"I said close your eyes," Hannah snapped, not sure what to make of his tone. "Plausible deniability."

Zabini stared at her for several second before closing his eyes obediently. Hannah smiled cruelly.

"Good," she purred, casting a muffling charm over Zabini for authenticity. "Now, Weasley...what to do with you..."

Ron swore at her.

"For that, let's make it gruesome," Hannah decided. "Accio!"

Lee Jordan's tarantula, enlarged dozens of times, flew through the trees to land in front of Ron. His howl of fear was entirely genuine. Poor Ron really did hate spiders.

"STOP!" 

Hannah whipped around.

...

Diggory wasn't lying. Ettie knew that much. But he was hiding something, trying to play her in some way. But with Blaise in trouble, she had no choice but to go along with it, spring the trap and hope they weren't expecting that.

Still, she was in heels that couldn't be touched by magic, which was only useful when people were constantly trying to trip you, and if Diggory kept leading her deeper into this _stupid-ass_ forest then Zabini would be on his own. 

A faint shout rang out somewhere in the distance. Diggory took off in a run towards it, leaving her behind without a first glance, nevermind a second. Ettie tried to follow, but again, heels. He lost her before she knew what was happening. 

"To hell with this," Ettie hissed, pulling off her boots and spelling her socks impenetrable. 

"Point me, North," Ettie said, checked the angle of the sun, and started making her way back to Hogwarts. Uh, hopefully. The castle was southeast of here, right?

...

Charity burst into the scene, Miss Lovegood at her heels, horror glowing in her chest.

"STOP!" she yelled. Potter whipped around. Charity raised her wand to secure the insane child. Miss Lovegood leapt at her wand arm with a cry and the spell went awry. Potter turned and sprinted deeper into the Forest, vanishing in matter of moments.

"That's not her!" Lovegood cried wildly, bodily blocking her from going after Potter, "it's not Ettie!"

Charity decided to ignore this particular insane child in favor of vanishing the acromantula Miss Potter had summoned and hurrying forward to free Mr Zabini.

His first words were: "It's not her, Professor, I swear to Merlin–"

"Quiet!" Charity hushed, seeing to Mr Weasley, who was pale and wide eyed but ultimately fine. "All of you back to the castle, now!"

That moment, Mr Diggory burst into the scene from nowhere at all.

"I heard yelling!" he said. "Is everyone okay, Professor Burbage?"

"Mr Diggory, excellent," Charity said, relieved, "please escort these three back to the castle and tell the Headmistress what has happened."

"But Professor, what did happen?" Diggory asked.

"The Demon Weasleys kidnapped me!"

"Ettie sent me to save Blaise!"

"Potter tried to kill me!"

Charity resorted to producing firecrackers out of her wand to gain silence, like Albus used to do, when the children started arguing and speaking over one another. 

"Back to the castle!" she shouted. "NOW!"

And finally, they went. 

Charity faced the Forest and squared her shoulders. A child was in danger, and it was up to her to protect the girl...even if Miss Potter was quite mad and in need of an extended stay in a Care Center.

...

Hannah didn't know how long she ran, but it was long enough for the Polyjuice to wear off and then some. She had gotten herself thoroughly lost by the time she sat down and pulled out her parchment like she should have done in the first place. 

'I'm lost,' she wrote. Writing appeared almost immediately.

'What landmarks do you see?' —Twins

'Just trees. There was a rock the size of a pegasus a few minutes back.'

A long pause. Hannah's hands trembled.

'It sounds like you're pretty far out. Climb a tree and see if you can see the castle, but not yet. Do you know the thólos shield charm?' —Twins 

'Yes.'

'Good. Shoot a basic stinging hex at whatever tree you think you can climb and then throw up the charm as fast as you can. If anything attacks you, pick another tree and try again.' —Twins

Hannah let out a dry, nervous sob.

'Okay.'

She looked around for a suitable tree and found one easily enough. She planted her feet.

"Ictus. Protego thólos!"

Hannah shrieked as a swarm of pixies shot out of the branches at her. They weren't the electric blue Cornish pixies or the fuzzy winter ones, but brown and crusty like bark. It took several minutes for them to settle down again, and several more for Hannah to lower the shield.

The next tree was infected with doxies, which Hannah was deathly allergic to. She had never shielded so fast in her life, and relocated to an entirely different part of the forest after that.

Hannah tried another tree, but wasn't fast enough with the charm. A handful of bowtruckles landed on her, ripping at her face and hair. By the time she managed to get rid of them it had gone fully dark.

"Lumos," Hannah hiccuped, hunting for the parchment. It now had a list of safety tips written on it. The very first item read:

'DO NOT MAKE YOUR OWN LIGHT. USE THE NIGHT VISION CHARM INSTEAD.'

"Nox!" Hannah said hastily, but the damage was done. In the instant before her light went out, she saw something long and thin coming towards her, something with teeth and too many arms.

Hannah screamed.

...

Ettie...okay, Ettie had never claimed to be a woodsy type of girl. She was born and raised in the city, where the wildest thing to be seen was Maisie's awful bed head, and was reborn into middle class suburbia. She had never so much as been camping.

So really, she could hardly blame herself for getting hopelessly lost a five minute walk from the castle, right? Right. Still, Ettie might not have known normal forests, but she did know some about the magical variety. If only because of Voldemort and his torture-enforced study thing.

Ettie knew not to produce light, knew a cosmetic spell to nullify her scent, knew the night vision charm. So really, other than being seriously pissed off and tired, Ettie was perfectly fine. 

A scream echoed through the night, high and girlish. Ettie paused. That...that was none of her business. If some other moron had followed a sketchy prefect into the Forbidden Forest then it was their own fault!

Ettie sighed and took off in a run towards the scream. Maisie would want her to help. She was dead and still a slave to her baby sister. How pathetic was that?

...

Hannah tried to go out with a fight, she really did. She sent hexes flying left and right, even dared to use the one real curse she knew. 

It still wasn't enough. The thing had her clutched close in its spindly arms, surrounding her with a sweet-sharp, cloying smell that made her head spin. Her wand was lost and blood dripped down her head, lapped away by an unseen tongue.

All Hannah could do was scream, cry, and pray for a miracle.

"Diffindo," a very familiar voice snapped, a voice Hannah had spent days subtly listening to in all their shared classes. The creature squealed and dropped her. Hannah fell awkwardly and pain shot up her left arm.

"Potter!" she gasped.

"Hufflepuff," Potter returned, hurling another spell at the creature. "Get off your ass and run!" 

She grasped Hannah's wrist, yanking her to her feet with astonishing strength, and towed her deeper into the Forest. The thing followed, though Hannah couldn't see it, she felt it's claws catch at the bottom of her robes more than once. But it wasn't a strong runner and they lost it before long.

Potter slowed to a walk. Hannah flinched as a wand tip rapped against her temple and her eyes burned. She yanked away from Potter, shrieking, before she realized that she could _see_. 

She looked down at Potter, who barely came up to her nose, dumbfounded. 

"You're helping me."

"Astute observation," Potter sneered. 

"But I-" Hannah clamped her mouth shut before she could say anything incriminating. But Potter had already noticed.

"But you what?" she asked dangerously, stalking closer. Potter was under five feet tall and barefoot, with leaves in her hair and dirt on her face. She was still the scariest thing Hannah had seen all night.

"Nothing!" Hannah squeaked, as if that was convincing in the slightest. 

"Oh, really? You have nothing to do with a certain plot involving Cedric Diggory, the Weasleys, and Blaise Zabini? Nothing at all?"

_She knows!_

Hannah drew herself up to her full height. "Even if I did, I wouldn't regret it!"

"I think I'll take that as a confession," Potter decided. Hannah cringed and waited for death. To her surprise, Potter laughed.

"Not dying today, 'Puff."

"I–I won't tell you anything!"

"Seems to me that your little game has already run its course. What's the harm?"

Hannah kept her mouth stubbornly shut. 

Potter sighed. "You realize I can just leave you here, wandless, right? We're so deep in the Forest that nobody would find your body for years. You'd just be gone. Wonder how your family would feel..."

Hannah stopped. Tears sprung to her eyes. "I know what you're doing!"

"I'm glad," Potter replied, still walking, "because otherwise you'd be a moron."

Hannah jogged to catch up, unwilling to be left behind. As Potter had pointed out, she didn't have a wand. The closest thing she had to weapons were the Transfigured heels in her bag, the ones she used for her Potter Persona.

"I know what you're doing," Hannah repeated. "It's not going to work. I'm not betraying my friends!"

"I rather think it will," Potter said casually. "You wanna know why?"

"No."

Potter ignored her. "It's because there's no reason not to. It isn't a betrayal, 'Puff. Do you really think your friends would want you to get yourself hurt keeping a secret?"

"No," Hannah said, "but I'll do it anyway."

"Even if it gets you killed?"

Hannah's breathing sped up. Her heartbeat was pounding in her ears. Adrenaline shot through her veins.

"No," she answered for a third and final time, lunging at Potter.

...

Ron was a nervous wreck. McGonagall said Potter would be expelled for what she did, as soon as she was found. That was a win. But Hannah was missing too, alone in the Forbidden Forest and not answering her parchment. If she was their loss, Ron would never forgive himself.

"The teachers are out looking," Percy said quietly, coming to sit next to him.

"I know."

"She'll be fine," Percy continued, putting a hand on his shoulder. Ron shrugged it off.

"Yeah."

Percy sighed, gave his shoulder a squeeze, and left him alone with his guilt. Ron stood up abruptly, hating how most of the room went silent and looked at him. Ironic given how much he usually enjoyed have respect for once. 

"I'm going for a walk," he managed, stumbling out of the portrait hole. As soon as it shut he was running, not sure where he was going. Ron heard footsteps behind him and ran faster. He threw a glance over his shoulder and scowled to see twin heads of red hair rounding the corner. 

Ron yelped as he slammed into something warm and solid...something with a furious sneer and green tie.

...

Ettie wasn't expecting the Hufflepuff to try to fight her. Still, she was slow, and Ettie had trained with the speed demon that was the actual Dark Lord. She stepped out of the way, tripped the 'Puff, and watched with exasperation as she fell flat on her face. 

She planted a foot on the girl's lower back and scooped up her book bag. Ettie pulled out shoddy replicas of her own shoes, homework paraphernalia, and a small bottle helpfully labeled 'Polyjuice' in Ceasar Cipher.

Ettie's fist clenched around the vial. Her mind started spinning, piecing together little details from the last few months to create a picture she really didn't like the look of.

"Granger, I'm guessing?" Ettie said, pressing down hard as the 'Puff struggled. "She chose the simplest code in the book. I would've pegged ASCII as more her style, but hey, what do I know?" 

"Stop it! Let me go!" The 'Puff yelled into the dirt. 

Ettie dug her bare heel into her spine.

"So, I think an picture is emerging. I'm being framed, yes? Diggory said the Weasels had Blaise, and I came running. He was the bait. And you, disguised as me, would do something sufficiently terrible in front of witnesses. Your co-conspirators would warn you as to when I was coming. Someone would cause a distraction, letting you slip away. And I would happen upon the scene moments later, only to get 'caught in the act'. Am I wrong?"

The Hufflepuff was silent, so Ettie removed her foot. She sat up and glared at Ettie, eyes full o tears

"You're aren't wrong. Ron will submit the memory and a dozen other people will corroborate it. You're going to be expelled! You'll go to Azkaban! You—"

"Will burn in hell for my crimes?" Ettie said dryly. "Probably. But thank you for telling me, 'Puff. Knew you had it in you."

The Hufflepuff gaped. "You–you already knew! I didn't tell you anything!"

"No, you just confirmed my theories. Which I can submit as evidence of my own if it comes to it. You've been most helpful."

Ettie kept walking and the 'Puff didn't follow.

...

Charity's heart leapt. There, caught in a tangle of thorns and smeared with dirt, was a roll of parchment with indecipherable writing on it. She snatched it up, tucking the parchment into her robes.

Charity shot red sparks into the sky to alert the other teachers. They were close. 

...

Hannah watched as Potter's small silhouette vanished into the trees. She quietly sat down and buried her face in her knees. She had ruined everything. She was a _traitor_. Her friends would be expelled and punished for trying to do the right thing. And—She took a shaky breath and admitted to herself what she was really worried about.

Her mother. 

Hannah trembled just to think of what her mother would do to her if she found out Hannah had betrayed the cause. She would kill her if she could get away with it, which she could. And Hannah...didn't want to die. But if she was going to anyway then it would be on _her_ terms. 

...

Ron took one look at the Slytherin he ran into and reached for his wand. It was Marcus Flint, one of Potter's closest minions.

A massive hand clamped around his wrist, casually prying the wand from his hand. Flint grinned unpleasantly.

"Weasley. Just who I wanted to see."

"Get off me!" Ron yelled. 

"Let him go, Flint," one of the Twins said, catching up. Both of their wands were aimed at the Slytherin. Flint seemed remarkably unintimidated. 

"Where is Harriet Potter?" he asked.

"You know where she is," George said.

"She's wandering around the Forbidden Forest like a right moron," Fred finished. 

Flint nodded, surprisingly calm. Then he burst into action so quickly Ron didn't realize what was happening until it was over. Flint threw Ron behind him where he skidded until he hit the wall. The Twins started throwing hexes but Flint was fast for such a burly guy. He dodged everything easily and returned fire with the same inexplicable speed. Fred and George weren't expecting it and fell in a heap.

Ron had just struggled to his feet when Flint turned around and grabbed him by the collar.

"Hold tight, Weasel. We're going on a field trip."

...

Ettie watched from under the Cloak as the 'Puff stood up. The tears shone on her cheeks, but her eyes were resolute. Ettie felt an uneasy jolt of alarm. She had seen that look before.

The Hufflepuff hunted around and scooped up a good sized rock. Ettie frowned. What, was she going to try and bash her own brains ou—

She threw the rock directly at a tree and a swarm of doxies flew out, screeching angrily. Ettie swore.

"Protego thólos!" she yelled, running towards the 'Puff and setting fire to the doxies that got in her way. They fell around her shoulders in a smouldering cloud. She stuffed her Cloak in her bag as she went. 

"Wha—"

"YOU IDIOT!" Ettie screeched–that's right, she would admit it! "What the hell makes you think you should kill yourself over a school yard squabble?!"

The 'Puff ignored her and tried to run at the tree. Ettie tripped her and pounced, bodily pinning the girl to the ground, forgetting for the moment the uses of magic.

"Suicide is not the way," she hissed in the Hufflepuff's face, squeezing her wrists so tightly there would be bruises. "Your life is worth more than that! How dare you? Think of your family–"

"My family is the reason!" she wailed, thrashing ineffectually. "She'll kill me! I'm a traitor! She'll kill me!"

"Who?" Ettie demanded. The 'Puff shook her head vigorously, now sobbing.

 _"Tell me!_ "

"NO!"

Ettie's jaw clenched, heart pounding. This Hufflepuff. Was not. Going to die.

"Listen to me," Ettie said calmly. The 'Puff continued to cry. "You're not going to die. What's your name?"

"W-what?"

"Your name," Ettie said. "You know, the thing people call you instead of 'hey, you' or 'Hufflepuff'."

Despite the sarcasm, Ettie kept her voice low and soothing, like she had when she talked Maisie through a panic attack. 

"I–Hannah. Ab-Abbott."

"Hey, I–Hannah Abbott," Ettie replied. "I'm Ettie, but you may know me as Bitch Queen."

The 'Puff—Hannah—stared up at her, mouth hanging open. At least she wasn't trying to commit die anymore.

"What, didn't expect the Dark Lord Potty to have a sense of humor?" Ettie asked, using one of the other common nicknames for her.

Hannah closed her mouth, but she still looked like somebody had slapped her with a dead fish. "What are you doing?"

"Keeping you from dying."

" _Why?_ "

"Because every life is beautiful and I like pretty shit."

Hannah started crying again. "You're lying."

"What? You don't think your life is beautiful?" 

"No!" she burst out. "My life is–is a steaming pile of dungbombs about to explode on anybody who gets too close!"

"Maybe it is," Ettie agreed. "But I have a great scent erasing charm and I love explosions."

"You—" Hannah was blushing. "Stop it! You're just trying to manipulate me!"

"Sure am," Ettie said, "because you're going to live, Hannah Abbott, even if I have to trick you into it."

Her face crumpled, as if nobody had ever said something so nice to her. Ettie smoothed her thumbs across Hannah's soft, dirty wrists. 

Hannah opened her mouth to respond. 

"STUPEFY!"

Everything went dark.

...

"STUPEFY!" 

Hannah squealed as Potter—as Ettie—as Harriet went limp, falling forward across her torso. She could feel her breath on her face. 

"Miss Abbott!" Professor Sprout's familiar voice cried. "Oh, you poor child!"

"Professor!" Hannah said.

Professors Flickwick, Burbage and Sprout hurried forward. Flickwick levitated Harriet Potter into the air where she hung like a dead thing, all floppy limbs and slack features. It made Hannah feel sick. Professor Sprout seized her in a warm hug.

"Are you hurt?" Flickwick asked in a clipped sort of way, gazing with his jaw clenched at Harriet.

"N-no, sir," Hannah said. "I–Potter wasn't going to hurt me. I–"

But she couldn't admit what she had been trying to do. It seemed so shameful. So weak. 

"It's alright, Miss Abbott," he said, voice considerably gentler. "You don't have to say anything. You're safe now and that's all that matters."

Hannah swallowed. "But, what's going to happen to her?"

"Exactly what she deserves," Flickwick said grimly.

...

Ron didn't know where Flint was taking him or what he was going to do to him. All Ron knew was that he wouldn't get away with it. He slowly slipped his finger into his pocket where he had a quill and his parchment. Ron grasped the shaft of the quill between his index and thumb fingers. He stabbed the nib into the pad of his middle finger as hard as he could. 

Ron slowly moved the bloody finger to the parchment and began writing.

...

Percy and most of the Gryffindor Common Room reached for their parchments at once as the paper vibrated slightly. He stared down at the coded, dark crimson words soaking into the parchment.

'Help' —Ron

Adrenaline swept through every inch of Percy's body. He was on his feet before he knew what he was doing, at the head of several dozen other Gryffindors.

...

Marcus went still as he heard the sudden dull roar of hundreds of footsteps and angry voices. He looked down at the Weasel. The Weasel looked back, steely eyes full of satisfied spite.

"Fuck."

Marcus sized the Weasel around the middle, held a wand to his throat, and pressed his own back against the nearest wall. The wild Gryffindors appeared mere moments later.

"Let go of my brother," the bookish Weasel hissed, brandishing a wand that spat sizzling red sparks. The Weasel Twins flanked him, their eyes promising this encounter wouldn't end like the last. 

"If you want him in one piece you'll leave, now," Marcus returned. It was a bluff and a poor one, but what else was he to do?

"Yeah right," one twin scoffed.

"If you let him go we might leave you in one piece!"

"Maybe two."

"Do you really think you can stop me before I slit his throat?" Marcus sneered, digging his wand deeper into the littlest Weasel's neck. 

"No," the bookish one answered. "But do you really think anything will stop us from tearing you apart if you do?"

Weasel had a point. 

"Alright," Marcus acknowledged. "Then it looks like we have an impasse."

They didn't really. Marcus was at a disadvantage in every possible way. He just hoped none of the Lions were strategic enough to realize it. 

"So here's what's going to happen," Marcus continued, "I'm going to go my way with the baby Weasel and you lot are going to stay here. When I'm far enough, I'll let him go. If you follow me, well, my wand might slip."

"If you hurt him–" the black Third Year Gryffindor began furiously. The bookish Weasel shushed him.

"No, Flint. _Here's_ what's going to happen. You are outnumbered and trapped and your only leverage is my little brother." His glasses were fogging with his anger and it should have been ridiculous. It wasn't. "So you're going to let him go and we'll let you go, no fuss."

The Gryffindors erupted in protest. 

"No," Weasley said sharply. "I will not allow fighting in the halls like this is a battlefield!"

And that was the moment bookish Weasel lost the respect he had gained. The Weasel Twins raised their wands and shouted curses simultaneously. Marcus shoved the baby Weasel into the path of one, blocked the other, and threw up a shield charm. He sprinted down the hallway, running in zigzagging patterns.

It wasn't enough. 

Spells rained down around him, a multi colored storm. His shield shattered and Marcus whipped around. The Lions, now mixed with a good deal of 'Puffs and 'Claws, were right behind him. Marcus planted his feet and prepared to take down as many of them as he could. 

...

"Marcus Flint is being attacked in the Third Floor Charms Corridor!"

"...Okay?"

"Relax, Firstie. Flint is one of the strongest duelists in Slytherin."

"Not against half of every other House he isn't! You have to hurry!"

"What."

...

"What the hell is going on here?" 

Lavender looked up as the Head Girl, flanked by most of Slytherin House, came striding down the corridor. The crowd slowly fell silent, turning to face her. 

"Flint tried to kidnap Ron Weasley!" Lavender blurted.

"Does that explain why he's laying beaten half to death by an angry mob?"

Head Girl Farley crouched down to take Flint's pulse and Lavender felt a flush of shame. She hadn't laid hand or wand on him, but she hadn't done anything to stop it either. 

"Warrington, get your Captain to the Hospital Wing." Farley stood gracefully and rounded on the defiant Gryffindors (and Ravenclaw and Hufflepuffs). "Where is Head Boy Weasley?"

"He's fine," Fred said nonchalantly. Lavender noticed that he was holding his wand very tightly, despite his casual demeanor. 

"Where. Is he," Farley snapped. 

"Right here," Percy said, limping to the head of the crowd. Lavender gasped. He looked awful! She thought the Twins had stuck him to the wall, not beaten him up!

"I suppose that answers the question of how you could permit this to happen," Farley said. "Get yourself to the Hospital Wing. I'll handle this."

Percy opened his mouth to protest, but stumbled and almost fell. George caught him and Percy shrugged him off violently. 

" _Don't_ touch me."

"Perce, I—"

"I don't care what your reasons are," Percy yelled. "You don't treat family like that! You don't _hurt_ family!"

"He kidnapped Ron!"

"So you attacked _me_ —nevermind. I can't do this right now. I have to go to the Hospital."

Percy limped off, silently supported by his girlfriend, Penelope Clearwater. People booed and yelled insults. George swallowed hard and Feed looked guilty in an angry sort of way. 

"One hundred and seventy three points from Gryffindor," Farley said, inviting immediate outrage. "One hundred and nintey points from Hufflepuff. And two hundred and twenty points from Ravenclaw. Now get back to your Common Rooms!"

"Like hell!"

"Eat dirt, snake!"

"You're just a filthy Slytherin! You can't tell us what to do!"

"Suck my—"

Farley let out a powerful blast of noise from her wand, but the crowd refused to fall silent. Lavender looked around nervously for someone to be the voice of reason, but even the Prefects seemed overcome with fury, hurling abuse at the Head Girl.

And then someone hurled a spell. 

Farley's wand snapped up, catching it on a shield in less time than it took for Lavender to blink. And from there, everything devolved into chaos. 

...

"Potter, what the hell?" Tom asked as Ettie appeared in the dreamscape, swearing up a storm and pulling at her hair. 

"I've been framed," Ettie growled, "and the only person who can prove it wasn't me will die if she does."

"Then she dies," Tom said, but Ettie was already shaking her head.

"Not going to happen. I won't let it."

"Alright, then. What are you being framed for?"

Ettie frowned. "I'm not entirely sure. Something bad enough to warrant expulsion and Azkaban."

"Well that's helpful." Tom sighed and sat down, crossing his arms. "I'll ask Voldemort to get Lucius on it. In the mean time, just act as innocent as possible."

"Have you met me?" Ettie huffed. "I'm the opposite of innocent. I am decidedly guilty."

"But not of this."

"Not of this," Ettie agreed, throwing herself down on the couch next to Tom. And since when had being guilty stopped her anyway? Ettie pursed her lips and began to plot. 

...

Blaise wasn't angry. No, he was so far beyond angry that he had come through the other side to a perfect, icy calm. His Lady was missing, his Housemates were under attack, and Blaise was going to serenely rip the throat out of every enemy that crossed his wand. 

Starting with Weasley. 

Blaise zeroed in on the lanky red head, hurling a banishing charm directly at his stomach. The Weasel went flying into a wall, loosing his grip on his wand. Blaise waited impatiently for him to pick it up again, absently blocking a few curses that the Demon Twins hurled at him. Pucey had them occupied soon enough. 

Weasley was back on his feet. Blaise smiled, deliberately slow, and charmed a nearby suit of armor to attack him from behind. 

This was going to be fun. 

...

Tracey was so mad she wanted to cry, to hit something, to hex a Gryffindor's balls off. She ended up doing all three as she took on four opponents at once. She was holding her own! She was _winning_!

"For Potter!" she roared, downing her latest enemy with a bat-boogey hex. Her fellows roared with her and another wave of Gryffvenpuffs fell.

...

Remus met up with the other teachers just outside of Hagrid's hut. 

"Give her to me," he said, voice clipped. Flickwick hesitated and Remus bared his teeth. 

" _Now_ , if you please." 

Flickwick lowered Harry into his arms. Remus cradled her carefully, checking her over for injuries. She had a few scrapes and a nasty bruise, but that was the extent of it. 

"Remus, I know you don't want to believe—" Flickwick began. Remus started walking. He didn't want to hear lies about Lily and James' girl from the man who abandoned her to Slytherin in the first place.

Minerva met them in front of the castle. She looked as though she had been waiting for a long time. 

"We'll put her in the old Astronomy classroom," was all she said. "Pomona, please take Miss Abbott to the Hospital Wing."

"Wait," Abbott spoke up. Minerva paused.

"Yes, Miss Abbott?"

"I—" she shook her head, trembling slightly. "I—nevermind."

Remus and the others headed for the Astronomy Tower. He stopped as he heard the familiar sounds of a duel.

"There's fighting somewhere below us," he said. But it wasn't really his business. His business lay with the short, too-thin form nestled into his arms. Flickwick, Charity, Snape, and Aurora split off to investigate and Minerva and Remus continued up the stairs. 

"I don't believe she did it," Remus said, breaking the silence. "Not of her own will."

"I wish I didn't believe it," Minerva returned, "but I do. The child is disturbed."

"The child is a _child_. She has a good heart."

"Whether that's true or not, the evidence lies against her. Mr Weasley was willing to offer his very memories to prove it."

"Memories can be tampered with; they're not considered valid proof of anything."

"But he didn't know that," Minerva returned, "and the very fact that he was willing proves his sincerity."

"I'm sure Mr Weasley is perfectly sincere," Remus said. "But it wouldn't be a Third Year who would successfully frame her."

"What do you suggest, then?" Minerva sighed. "The Imperius Curse? Polyjuice Potion?"

"Either," Remus said stubbornly. "Harry would never try to kill another child."

"She already killed Quirinus Quirrel!"

"Who was a murderer and a psychopath! And that was never proven!" he snarled, feeling the wolf rear up in protective fury. Minerva took a brief step back. Remus winced.

"Sorry. I just..."

"It's alright." Minerva sighed again. "I don't want to believe it either."

"I _don't_ believe she did it," Remus repeated, wondering just who he was trying to convince. Before Minerva could reply, Pomona's rabbit Patronus came streaking through the floor.

"The Slytherins have gone mad! They're attacking the rest of the school!"

...

Gemma knew that she should have tried harder to avoid conflict. She could have reasoned with the others or even manipulated them. But in reality, Gemma was just pissed. Seven years at Hogwarts being spat on by the other Houses, feared or hated or both, and now the they were literally ganging up on lone Slytherins?

It was her last year. She'd taken her NEWTS early. She already had an internship lined up. What did she have to lose?

So Gemma let loose. She hexed a Weasley, cursed a McLaggen, jinxed a Smith. She threw Seventh Years into rows of Firsties and turned Fifth Years into ferrets. She paid back threefold every slight these worms had ever given her.

"Stop! STOP!"

That voice sounded far more mature than any of the others who had screamed that word in the last half hour. Gemma whipped around, casting a thólos shield as she did. Several teachers came running down the hall. She discretely took aim and grinned as Sprout fell to a spray of fanged daffodils.

The teachers were as big a part of the problem as any and it looked like their reckoning had arrived.

...

Henrik had never predicted that moving to Britain would end up with him dueling six opponents at once, back to back with Nwaike and Adrian. His heart was in his throat and he winced every time an enemy fell, but more than anything he felt exhilarated. 

"You messed with the wrong House!" Adrian hooted as a 'Puff went down with antlers sprouting from his eyes.

"For Potter!" someone howled.

"FOR POTTER!" Henrik, Nwaike and Adrian echoed. The crowd was thinning, groaning bodies piled thick on the floor. The opposition dropped like flies and before long the number left standing could be counted on two hands.

That, of course, was when the teachers arrived. 

...

"Stop! STOP!"

Aurora pretended to shriek when Sprout went down under a sea of conjured plants. Really she was laughing on the inside. Whoever cast that spell had a delicious sense of irony. 

"Stop this at once!" Burbage, the new Head of Gryffindor House, yelled. Aurora looked around at the standing Slytherins and fallen everyone else in 'shock'.

"Oh my," she squeaked. "Oh my!"

"Two hundred and eighty three points from Slytherin!" Flickwick bellowed. "And—Miss Farley, explain what the hell is going on here!"

"The other Houses attacked one of ours," the normally composed Head Girl said, breathing heavily. "So we retaliated."

Aurora had the singularly pleasant experience of seeing Flickwick rendered speechless. Severus stepped forward, his face like stone. 

"This behavior is not acceptable. Slytherins, you will return to the Common Room at once. Rest assured that detention will be the least of your punishments."

"Severus—" Sprout started, having been rescued from the biting flowers. 

"It is late and there are students in need of medical assistance. I propose we deal with the matter on the morrow."

Just then old McGonagall arrived. She stopped dead, putting a hand to her heart upon seeing the floor blanketed with unconscious students. Aurora had to hide her grin in her hands under the guise of being horrified. 

"You...this..." Slowly, her face went from white to a lovely shade of purple. "You _poisonous snakes!_ How dare you—never in all my years—you'll be expelled for this, mark my words!"

"Consider them marked," Farley said loudly. "In all their prejudiced, discriminatory glory. Do you even know the situation? Have you bothered to ask? No! You just blame Slytherin, like you always do!"

"Because Slytherin is guilty!" McGonagall thundered. "The situation is patently obvious!"

"Oh, so it's obvious that they attacked first? That they ganged up on and nearly killed Marcus Flint for trying to speak to Ron Weasley?"

"That's preposterous!" McGonagall was shaking with rage, knuckles white around her wand. Aurora was shaking too–with laughter. 

"It's true!" Farley yelled. "Ask the portraits! Ask us! Ask the bloody Gryffindors! Except you won't, because you're a _miserable old hag blinded by hatred!"_

"How dare yo—"

"SILENCE!"

Everybody froze, including Aurora, staring at Severus. 

"This has gone on long enough," he said quietly. "Minerva, I suggest we contain the students left standing and get the rest to medical attention. It wouldn't do to have someone die because the Headmistress was too busy arguing with a child to do her job."

Ooh, burn! 

McGonagall drew herself up and nodded stiffly. "The unharmed students will congregate in the Great Hall."

"None of us are unharmed," Blaise Zabini cut in, sneering. "And expansion charms or no, there will not be room for all in the Hospital Wing."

"Then a makeshift infirmary will be set up in the Great Hall," McGonagall snapped. "Aurora, Floo St Mungo's and request additional Healers."

"Yes Headmi—"

"My, my, my," a familiar voice mused. "What's this? Students dueling in the corridors, in the middle of the night no less?"

Aurora turned around and gasped loudly to avoid cackling in glee. Lucius Malfoy had arrived. Could this day get any better?

...

Lucius was woken in the middle of the night by the Dark Mark on his arm bursting into pain so sudden that he yelped aloud. 

"Lucius?!" Narcissa cried. 

"He summons me," he replied curtly, hurrying out of bed and pulling on his robes. "I will return as soon as I am able."

Lucius apparated to the gates of Slytherin Manor, donning his mask and hood as he went. He walked quickly to where the Throne Room, not yet willing to abandon all dignity by running.

"My Lord." He bowed. 

"Lucius. Harriet Potter had been framed, though the nature of the crime is unknown. The Headmistress of Hogwarts aims to expel her. You will not let this happen."

"Yes, my Lord."

Ten minutes later, Lucius was following the sound of a battle to the Third Floor, where he witnessed the young Miss Farley hurling uncomfortable truths at old McGonagall, Severus taking charge, and that delightful two-faced Aurora Sinistra struggling to hold back her delight. McGonagall ordered Sinistra to fetch more Healers and Lucius took that as his cue. 

"My, my, my," he said. "What's this? Students dueling in the corridors, in the middle of the night no less?"

"Lucius Malfoy," McGonagall said tartly. "Of course. I should have expected you to appear at the first sign of trouble."

"My dear Headmistress, you wound me," he drawled. "But I am not here because of this little...kerfuffle. I am here to attend the emergency Governors' meeting to take place tonight."

"And what is this meeting about?"

"Why, to conduct the hearing of Miss Potter, of course! Her punishment must be decided posthaste, you understand."

McGonagall pinched her lips together. "Punishemnts are under the purview of the Headmistress, not the Board of Governors."

"In normal circumstances, yes. But as it is, Miss Potter is the only surviving member of House Potter and therefore requires a hearing under the Endangered Magical Line Act of 1324."

McGonagall looked ready to attack him if the muscle working in her jaw was any indication. Lucius hoped she did; removing Dumbledore's puppet would surely please the Dark Lord to no end. But she reigned herself in. 

"Then I will ask you to wait in the Hearing Chamber, and not wander the halls, _Mr_ Malfoy."

"But of course," Lucius said pleasantly. "As Headmistress you will be joining me, will you not?"

"Eventually," she said stiffly. "I must tend to the children—"

"The hearing starts in," he pretended to check his timepiece, "just under fifteen minutes. And the Headmistress is required to attend the hearing in its entirety. Considering we have yet to retrieve Miss Potter, I suggest you make no delays."

"Of course," she said, lips white against her flushed face.

Lucius smiled. 

...

Hannah was, in a word, miserable. On the one hand: Harriet Potter was evil, was Dark, was everything her family had fought against for generations. The Queen's Gambit Club was honorable, just. They were trying to do the right thing.

On the other hand: Harriet Potter saved her life. Twice. She was sarcastic, was stubborn, was just another thirteen year old girl. The Queen's Gambit Club had put Marcus Flint in the Hospital Wing barely fifteen minutes before she got there. They were bullies.

Hannah clenched her eyes shut, wishing the two voices screaming at each other in her head would go away. The Infirmary was packed now, full of groaning or unconscious kids, which only added to the overwhelming noise. 

Harriet Potter was evil.

Harriet Potter was just a girl.

It didn't matter what Harriet Potter was or wasn't, because Harriet Potter was getting expelled and imprisoned. Hannah was the only one who could stop it. But if she did, Hannah would die, and worse, her friends would be expelled and committed to a Care Center!

But Harriet Potter was innoce—evi—just a girl! Harry clutched her hair and tried not to scream. 

...

Ettie, once she saw Malfoy Sr, knew that she had the hearing in the bag. He was as corrupt as they came, with deep pockets and fingers in every pie. As long as Voldemort didn't want Ettie expelled, she wouldn't be expelled.

She sat in the accused's seat in the hearing chamber, slouching down as far as she could. Ettie was _tired_. She stayed up most of the night tramping around in a forest and then got maybe fifteen minutes of rest before a absolutely furious McGonagall was reviving her. And what a sight to wake up to. 

"Miss Potter!"

Speak of the devil. 

"What?" Ettie drawled, giving the Headmistress a flat look.

"Did you or did you not attempt to feed Ronald Weasley to an acromantula?" McGonagall repeated, eyes flashing. 

"Not."

"Half a dozen witnesses say you did."

"All friends of the Weasley boy, coincidentally," Malfoy interrupted. "Who has a long standing and outspoken grudge against Miss Potter."

"It wasn't me," Ettie affirmed, frowning at her enchanted claws. She had cracked two sometime in the Forbidden Forest mess. Maybe she could get Malfoy to charm them back to their proper state if he thought it would win him brownie points with Voldemort. She likely wouldn't have access to her wand for a while, after all.

Ettie turned out the rest of the hearing, which mostly consisted of Malfoy and McGonagall sparring verbally and the other Governors hiding their yawns. When it came to a verdict, however, she sat up and paid attention.

"Miss Harriet Potter," Malfoy said, openly smirking, "you are hereby _suspended_ from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for fourteen days, as of sunrise today. You have until then to gather your belongings. A Portkey will provided to take you to your home. This session is now adjourned."

McGonagall swept past Ettie on the way to the door, her face like a thundercloud. Ettie broke the 'no smiling' rule just to give her the sweetest, most innocent grin possible as she flipped her the bird. McGonagall's nostrils flared and for a second Ettie thought she would attack. 

"Aw," Ettie said quietly as McGonagall marched away, head held high. Malfoy Sr chuckled. 

"I will be seeing you, Miss Potter," he said with an admittedly charming smile. If she hadn't known he was a cowardly, vicious reptile she might even have been fooled. 

"I bet you will," she returned. "But in the mean time...fix my nails?"

...

Minerva had just returned to her office and fetched a large bottle of whiskey when urgent knocking came at the door.

"It's open," she said, downing a shot in one go. Minerva hurriedly hid the bottle, however, when Miss Clearwater entered with Miss Abbott.

"Professor, I'm here to confess!"

Minerva sighed. "Miss Abbott, I appreciate the thought, but whatever transgression you have committed can certainly wait until morning."

Miss Clearwater left but Miss Abbott stayed stubbornly rooted to the spot. Minerva could tell she wouldn't be leaving until she had been heard. So she locked away her anger and exhaustion and prepared to reassure the little Hufflepuff that whatever minor misdeed she had done did not make her a terrible person. 

"Alright, what did you do?"

Miss Abbott took a deep breath.

"I HELPED RON WEASLEY AND HIS CLUB FRAME HARRIET POTTER FOR ATTEMPTED MURDER!"

Minerva dropped her glass.

"What?"

"We used Polyjuice," Miss Abbott sobbed. "Dean ran into her on 'accident' and grabbed a hair and Hermione Granger had Polyjuice left over and we staged the whole thing so she would show up right after I left and it was all fake! I'm so sorry!"

Minerva put her head in her hands, staring at nothing. Potter had been framed. Minerva had wholeheartedly believed that she had tried to murder Ron Weasley and it had been a lie all along.

"Please don't expel them," Abbott was saying when Minerva came back to reality. "They were only trying to do the right thing but Harriet isn't all that bad really and she saved my life twice in the Forbidden Forest!"

Minerva retrieved her glass and poured herself another shot. 

"I think you'd better start from the beginning."

...

Twenty minutes later, Minerva was mildly tipsy (she wasn't foolish enough to get drunk in a school full of children, though a fool indeed she had turned out to be) and ready to speak with Harriet Potter. 

Well. Ready was a strong word. But she _was_ determined.

She strode down the dim, empty halls of the dungeons, hoping that she remembered the way to the Slytherin Common Room correctly. It had been so long since Minerva had cause to visit. 

She knocked briskly on what she hoped was the right but of wall.

"I am Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts, and I request entrance," she said clearly. Head of the school or not, every non-Slytherin had to declare themselves and ask for permission to enter the Snake Pit. 

There was a pause before the wall slid back to reveal the Common Room. Minerva stepped inside and was unsurprised to be on the receiving end of several poisonous stares. Potter and her closest...friends, all seven of them, were gathered around the fire pit, with Potter in a high backed chair reminiscent of a throne. Minerva tried not to think about the fact that Voldemort had seven members of his Inner Circle and sat in an actual throne. 

"Miss Potter," she greeted, trying for neutral and coming across as stiff.

"McGonagall," Miss Potter said coldly. "What do you want."

"To apologize."

Potter tilted her head to the side. "You guys can go now. Blaise, stay."

Her...friends obediently filed out, each of them limping or bruised or sporting an injury of some kind. They sneered and glared as they did. One particularly bold Second Year, a Miss Fawcett, stuck her tongue out in what was a great insult among twelve year olds. 

Minerva directed her attention back to Miss Potter, and Mr Zabini on her right. His hand rested near his wand in what he probably thought was a casual manner.

Potter opened her mouth and a string of hisses emerged. Minerva had to force herself not to flinch away. An echoing hiss came from all around and for the first time she noticed just how many hidden snakes Salazar Slytherin had worked into the Common Room. A silence descended upon them, as though the three of them had suddenly been enclosed in a bubble.

Of course Slytherin built a Parseltongue-activated secrecy ward into the Pit. Paranoid old bastard.

Minerva opened her mouth.

"Hannah came clean, didn't she?" Potter said, leaning back in her chair. It dwarfed her, like a child in her father's favorite armchair. But the calculating glint in those split-pupiled eyes kept Minerva from ever underestimating the girl. 

"She did," Minerva admitted, "and I can assure you that justice will be dealt. I will call back the Board of Governors and have them rescind your sentence. Mr Weasley and his compatriots will be punished to the full extent of the law—"

"No," Potter interrupted. Minerva stared. 

"I beg your pardon?" she asked, baffled. She had assumed Potter would jump on the chance! Vengeance was very dear to Slytherins, in her experience. 

"I'll take the punishment. And in return for always believing the worst of me, refusing to listen to the truth, and trying you best to get me expelled, I ask that you proceed as though Hannah never told you a thing."

"I _beg your pardon_?" Minerva repeated. "Why?"

"It would ruin their lives. I don't—they're little buggers, to be sure, but they're only kids." Potter glanced down, a muscle ticking in her jaw. 

"...And?" Minerva prompted more gently than she had intended. Potter glanced up through her lashes in exactly the way James did on the rare occasion when he was actually upset. 

"And I don't want to be the monster they think I am," she admitted, squeezing her laced fingers together before hastily relaxing them. Minerva could practically feel her heart soften inside her chest. 

"Miss Potter," she said thickly, "I cannot begin to communicate how sorry I am. My behavior was shameful and unbefitting of a teacher. And for that I apologize."

Potter's face regained its default stone-like quality. Minerva was beginning to see it for what it was—the defense mechanism of a hurting child, not the emotionless mask of a young Tom Riddle. "If you're really sorry you'll pretend you never spoke to Hannah tonight."

Ignoring the demands of justice went against the grain of Minerva's very being. To knowingly punish an innocent was repugnant! But if the innocent herself requested it? And in return for so very large a debt as Minerva owed due to her own stupidity? 

"Very well," Minerva said, feeling as though every syllable was dragged out of her by something long and sharp. "I will honor your request."

"Oh, and two more things," Potter added. "One, can you let me to talk to Hannah before I leave? And second...I want you to apologize to Slytherin as a whole. Blaise told me what you said earlier tonight."

Minerva felt her lips press together, but she nodded anyway. It was only reasonable. She _had_ been unfair. And considering that she was so utterly wrong about Harriet Potter, what else was she wrong about?

"Miss Abbott is in my office at the moment. You are welcome to come at any time before you leave. Merlin knows I won't be getting to sleep tonight in any case. The password is quaffle."

"Thank you, Headmistress," Potter said, her expression softening into something that almost resembled a small smile. Almost. 

...

Ettie barely waited until the entrance had slid shut before she burst into delighted laughter. 

"It worked!" she exclaimed, grinning childishly at Blaise. He blinked back, looking dazed. 

" _Damn_ , Boss Lady."

Ettie smirked. "I can't believe she fell for it! I really thought she hated me too much to listen to anything in my favor."

"Apparently you're just that convincing," Blaise said. "Though I suspect it's because all your lies are based partly in truth."

"You think I actually care what those idiots think of me?" Ettie sneered. 

"Of course," he said. "It's only human, and you're not as cold as you make yourself out to be."

Ettie looked away from his knowing golden gaze.

"Whatever," she muttered. "Just go to bed, sap. You fought hard today."

"Goodnight, Ettie," he said fondly, standing up. He hesitated a moment, then reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. "You did good."

Then he was gone.

...

Hannah didn't know how long she waited in the Headmistress's Office, but it was much less time than she expected. Professor McGonagall entered looking a bit off-kilter, though it way have been all the whiskey she drank earlier.

"Professor?" she asked nervously. 

"Miss Potter," McGonagall said slowly, "has requested that things proceed as they would had you not confessed."

"What?! But that's not—that's not fair!"

"Perhaps not," the Professor said, "but it is what she asked. Given the circumstances, I have decided to obey her wishes."

Hannah sunk back into her chair. Why would—? But she already knew why. Harriet said it herself. 

_Because you're gooing to live, Hannah Abbott, even if I have to trick you into it._

"She wants to speak with you," McGonagall said, startling Hannah back into the present. "I told her to come at any time."

"Okay," Hannah said, twisting her braid between her fingers. The Headmistress laid her hand over Hannah's.

"You did the right thing, Miss Abbott. I am very proud of you. You would have made a fine Gryffindor. "

Hannah looked down, feeling her cheeks heat up. "Thank you, Professor."

McGonagall patted her hand a few times. "I must go and assist the other teachers in determining a fitting punishment for _all_ _four_ Houses. Miss Potter should be along shortly."

She left, leaving Hannah awkwardly kicking her feet against the floor and looking around the orderly office. What would Harriet want in return? She wouldn't save a life for free, especially not Hannah's. 

Would she want her to sabotage the Queen's Gambit Club? Hannah didn't want to betray her friends any more than she already had. They weren't bad people, just misguided. Maybe she could convince Harriet of that...and convince the club that Harriet wasn't the devil incarnate. 

Ha, right. She would sooner convince a kneazle that rats were friends, not food. This, whatever 'this' even was, would go terribly. She knew it. How could it not when Hannah was involved? She ruined everything she touched. 

"Slow down and relax, 'Puff, I can hear you worrying from here."

Hannah shrieked. Harriet had appeared out of nowhere, hair slightly more mussed than usual, smirking. 

"Harriet!" she blurted out. She raised an eyebrow. 

"Nobody calls me that."

"I mean...Ettie?" Hannah amended. 

"Just so. But only when we're in private, if you agree to my proposition."

"What is it?" Hannah asked.

"You're a part of Weasley's little club. You were a central part of his plan. You almost died to carry it out. They trust you."

"You want me to help you get revenge," Hannah said, dread filling her stomach. 

"What?" Ettie blinked once. "No, of course not. Revenge has already been gotten. No, I'd like you to do exactly what you've been doing. Go to meetings, act like you hate me, plan to get me expelled—all of that. Just tell me if they ever get an idea that might actually work, okay?"

"Like a spy," Hannah said, relieved. 

"Like a spy," Ettie confirmed. "You can say no if you're not comfortable with—"

"I'll do it!" Hannah said quickly. "I'll be the best spy ever!"

Ettie's lip twitched. "I know you will. You're one hell of an actress, 'Puff."

Hannah grinned, feeling heat gather in her cheeks. But then she remembered that she had just gotten Ettie suspended for two whole weeks and her smile faded. 

"I'm really sorry," she said softly.

"Don't be. It's healthy for the ego to be outsmarted occasionally. I'll be more prepared next time." Ettie glanced out the window, where the horizon was beginning to lighten. "I have to go."

Hannah nodded. 

"Okay. Thank you for—for everything. I hope you can get some rest while you're away."

Ettie grimaced. "That, I'm afraid, is a distinct impossibility."

...

Ettie knew from the start that her suspension would be a nightmare. For one thing, she was going back to the Dursleys. For another, _she was going back to the Dursleys_. To make matters worse, the School Board had confiscated her wand, so Ettie couldn't even threaten to turn them into nice, fat dung beetles and step on them. 

She grimaced to herself as she waited for her Portkey to activate. She had been assured that the Dursleys were notified of her impending arrival, what she had done to earn her punishment, and the terms of her suspension: no magic, no leaving the house, no outside magical contact.

So basically she was doomed.

Ettie felt a tug in her gut as the Portkey in her hands came alive and she was whisked away. She found her feet in the Dursleys living room, dark and quiet. Ettie could feel her shoulders tensing up. Where were the—?

"Boo," a voice whispered right in her ear. Ettie whipped around and smacked Tom on the chest. He grinned down at her. 

"What the hell," she laughed. "Why are you here?"

"What, you thought you were _actually_ going to spend two weeks alone with rabid muggles? Perish the thought." He seemed almost offended by the idea. 

Ettie could have kissed him. 

"You are the literal best," she breathed. "Wait. Where are the Dursleys?"

Tom smirked. "Alive."

Ettie thought about protesting that, or...or trying to protect them somehow. But honestly? Fuck that noise. They had never lifted a finger to help her. If they weren't dead, they weren't dead, and that was all Ettie cared about. It would look awfully shifty if her muggle relatives died as soon as she got there. 

"Okay," Ettie said. "Just return them in one piece, if it's not too much trouble. Wouldn't want people getting suspicious."

"Of course, dear," Tom assured her. "I had planned on finishing up with them after breakfast and then having them say they were going on holiday. That way you would have the run of the house."

"That sounds brilliant," Ettie sighed. "Also breakfast. Breakfast is a thing."

She startled a laugh out of Tom. "You say the strangest things sometimes, you know."

Ettie walked into the kitchen and began to raid the fridge. "All a part of my overpowering charm. Ooh, bacon!"

Ettie loaded her arms up with all the ingredients needed to make a good old fashioned American breakfast. She was going pancakes and bacon all the way! She hummed to herself as she turned on the electric mixer before tuning and cracking some eggs into a pan. 

"You seem surprisingly comfortable here," Tom observed. Ettie glanced over at him. He was sitting on Petunia's pristine countertop, not so pristine himself for once. His hair was a wavy mess and he was still in his black silk pajamas. 

"I've always liked to cook," Ettie explained, turning away before he could notice her looking. "It was the only time when Dudley wasn't allowed to bother me. And I used—"

She cut herself off, alarmed. She had almost mentioned told him about cooking with Maisie!

"Used to what?" Ettie chanced a look, but he seemed curious rather than suspicious. 

"I...there was a girl," Ettie said haltingly. "Her name was Maisie. She—she was like my sister. I used to cook with her, Before."

Heart beating fast, she focused intently on scrambling the eggs. Ettie had never talked to anyone in this world about Maisie. Not ever. It was as though she had crossed some sort of invisible divide in her own mind, opened a door Ettie didn't know was there, releasing a rush of emotions she thought she had gotten past. 

"What was she like?" Tom asked quietly. 

"Good," Ettie said. "So damn good and pure. Imagine if a unicorn were a person—that describes Maisie perfectly. We were nothing alike, but I...I guess that's why we got along so well. We completed each other."

"You cared for her deeply."

"Understatement of the century," Ettie snorted, scrubbing at her traitorous watering eyes. She took the eggs off the heat and started spooning pancake batter onto the griddle. 

"And you lost her," Tom said to himself. "How...what does grief feel like?"

Ettie gripped the spatula so hard her knuckles ached. "Like dying by inches. Like someone ripped everything good out of life and all you have left are the aching spaces where your world used to be."

Tom was silent for a while. "I can't imagine caring for anyone that much. That loosing them would be the end of my whole world. It seems...impractical. Dangerous, actually, to give one person so much power over you."

"It is dangerous," Ettie said. "Love always is."

Tom slid down from the counter and came to stand in front of her, his back to the stove.

"Do you regret it?"

"Never," Ettie answered immediately. "However much it hurts when it's gone, those bonds are worth it. It's...I can hardly explain it. Having someone to love, who loves you, is like a high that never ends. Nothing else matters if you have them. There's joy everywhere, even when by all rights you should be miserable. If I hadn't had her I would have killed myself a long time ago."

"Why didn't you, after she died?" Tom asked. Ettie flinched. 

"I—" _Because I was the one who died. Because she was gone and suicide wouldn't get me any closer to her. Because I'm a coward._

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked," Tom said, unable to hide his disappointment. He started to turn away. Ettie reached out and grabbed his hands. She thought about what she would have done had Maisie died and left her in the Before, thought long and hard, and crafted her response from that. 

"I would have killed myself in a heartbeat," she admitted slowly. "Anything to be with her again, or at least end the suffering. But..."

"You realized she wouldn't want that?" Tom suggested.

"No, that's not it. I..." She imagined the terrible pain she would have felt, but more importantly, the soul-rending _fury_. "I wanted the world to burn. I wanted it to _pay_ for taking her away from me. For—"

Ettie clenched her fists, realizing too late that she was still holding Tom's hands. He didn't flinch, instead squeezing back with the same bruising force. 

"I couldn't die yet, I told myself," she whispered, "not until I'd bled my agony dry. But by that point I had my will to live for more than vengeance back."

"Your love made you weak." Ettie's head shot up and she opened her mouth furiously. "But it also makes you strong. You took your pain and turned it into fuel. You've managed so _much_."

Ettie looked away, afraid to meet the burning intensity in Tom's searching gaze.

"I'm not strong," she denied. "Only stubborn."

"Your whole world was ripped away from you," Tom said sharply, with no idea how right he really was. "And you spat in the face of adversity. If that's not the definition of strength then the man who wrote the dictionary is a fucking moron."

Startled, she looked up, eyes locking onto Tom's. They were caught perfectly between red and brown, a molten amber that seemed to pierce right through her. 

"You might be the strongest person I've met," Tom admitted quietly, still holding her gaze. "You genuinely care nothing for the opinion of anyone outside yourself. You survived the attentions of Lord Voldemort without breaking. You...you endured a loss I can't begin to comprehend and—and you still have the courage to open your heart to others. I. I do not think I could have done the same."

"Well," Ettie breathed in a vain effort to break the tension, "it sounds like I'm pretty awesome then."

Tom didn't smile. He stepped forward, her hands still clutched in his. When his head began to dip, Ettie was sure she was imagining it. Then, quite suddenly, she had half risen up onto her tip toes. His face was inches away, determined but uncertain. It was the closest they had ever been to each other. Ettie found herself picking cinnamon and ginger out of the mix of spices surrounding him. 

Her tongue flicked out, wetting her lips. Tom's eyes followed the motion. 

"I'm going to kiss you now," he murmured. Fair warning given, he leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers. And Ettie let him. 

There were no fireworks. Sparks didn't fly. But...his lips were so warm they bordered on hot and surprisingly soft. Tom tasted just how he smelled, an exotic mix of sweetness and spice. A heated thrill of something tingly swept through her and when he started to pull away Ettie chased his mouth with her own. 

Tom slotted their lips together more firmly in response. A pleased noise slipped out of Ettie before she could stop it. Tom laughed against her mouth and kept kissing her. 

A completely undetermined amount of time later, Ettie jerked back.

"Crap! The pancakes!"

...

Breakfast after the kiss was not half as awkward as it should have been. Tom kept smirking to himself and every now and then Ettie would be hit by a wave of self-recrimination. But she didn't regret it. Not only was it a bloody brilliant kiss, it had felt...natural. Comfortable. Like it was something they did all the time.

Not to say Ettie was planning on doing it again. She didn't regret it but it was still a mistake. She didn't have the time or mental/emotional capacity for anything remotely resembling a relationship.

(The thought of never kissing him again did not make her stomach sink. It did _not_.)

As soon as Tom was done eating, she brought it up. 

"So we kissed," she said, "and it was fantastic."

"I agree," Tom said, resting his elbows on the table and peering at her above folded hands. 

"But a kiss is all it was," Ettie continued, pretending her hands weren't shaking with nerves. Communication. Healthy communication. She could do it. "And it probably shouldn't happen again. I am not in a place currently where I can handle a relationship beyond friendship."

And there she stalled, unable to figure out what to say next. Thankfully Tom picked up the slack. 

"I wouldn't know where to begin participating in a romance," he admitted freely. "But yes, the kiss was fantastic."

Ettie relaxed. 

"Are you sure we can't do it again?"

"Tom!" she groaned, burying her face in her hands. "Don't joke about it!" 

He laughed. "Who said it was a joke?"

Ettie whipped her head up to glare at him, but he was still grinning his honest, ugly, playful, beautiful grin. And no, those weren't butterflies in her gut. 

"Relax, little love! Who knew you were so fun to mess with?"

"One more word," Ettie warned, pointing the Darth Vader finger at him. 

"What are you going to do?" he taunted. "Kiss me into submission? In case you haven't noticed, you don't have a wand—ack!"

Ettie cackled as Tom removed the syrup-covered pancake from his face. It turned into a shriek as he lunged over the table and planted her face into her own food. She emerged spluttering, with scrambled egg in her nose and jam in her hair. 

She had never seen Tom laugh so hard. 

"It is _on_ , Tommy boy," she hissed, leaping from her chair, a handful of eggs in each hand.

"Do your worst," he purred, armed with the syrup bottle and a strip of half-eaten bacon. 

...

Severus surveyed the Slytherins gathered before him in the Common Room. Some looked contrite (on the surface), others defiant, but all were absolutely silent. He let them stew for several moments. 

"Well done," he said quietly. Several students shifted, uncertain as to whether he was being sarcastic or not. "Slytherins have been spat upon and degraded for decades. Yesterday you proved to the rest of the school that there is more to Slytherin House than cowardly snakes that plot from the shadows. You might not have taken the most cunning or subtle approach, but quite frankly, nothing else would have gotten through their thick skulls."

"Does that mean we won't have detention?" Adrian Pucey asked hopefully. 

Severus smiled. 

"Wherever did you get that idea?"

...

The stairs creaked and Vernon woke with a start. He heaved himself up and stood in front of Petunia as she scrambled to stand. The door swung open and light spilled into their cell.

It was the boy demon, the one who abducted them. 

"Stay back!" Vernon said hoarsely. "I'm warning you!"

The boy demon flicked his unnatural instrument of magic and pain erupted in Vernon's face, as if he'd been struck. Petunia shrieked fearfully.

"Do you have any idea how tiresome you are? Merlin. It's a wonder Ettie hasn't orchestrated your deaths already."

Vernon didn't know who this Ettie was that the demon kept mentioning, but when he found her...

"You're going home today," the demon said casually. He pointed his stick at the chains holding them down, and they vanished completely. Vernon shuddered. Then the words caught up with him. 

"You—you're letting us go?"

"You're going home," the boy demon repeated. He stepped forward. Vernon took his chance and tried to attack, but was frozen in place. The demon used freakish powers to hurt Vernon again and then seized his arm as he screamed. 

He felt an awful squeezing sensation, and then he was vomiting on his knees in a familiar kitchen, Petunia right beside him. A pair of tall black boots entered his line of vision.

Vernon looked up.

The freak stared down at him, an unpleasant smirk playing across her black-painted lips. Vernon tried to surge to his feet. 

"FREAK!" he bellowed, only to fall into the pool of his own sick as the boy demon kicked him in the spine. Petunia was screaming, only to be silenced when a gag materialized over her mouth. 

"So, love," the demon said, casually sitting on their kitchen table, "what would you like to do with them?"

The freak grinned. It was the first time Vernon had ever seen her smile and he was horrified to learn that she had small, curved fangs where her canine teeth should have been. 

"Oh Tommy, I'm so glad you asked. First...hm. You're already on your knees, so why don't you beg?"

"Never!" Vernon yelled. "I would sooner—"

She stepped forward and kicked Vernon in the stomach with shocking strength. He doubled over, trying to breathe, and she drove his head into the ground, holding it there with her foot. 

"Beg," she sang.

"NO!"

Vernon cried out as she stepped harder on the back of his head. 

"Yes. Or I'll start in on your wife."

Vernon froze, facedown in vomit in his own home. Petunia was trembling violently. When he strained his eyes towards her he could see the tears streaking down her cheeks. 

"I..." he trailed off and closed his eyes. "Please."

"Please what?"

He didn't know what she wanted to hear. "Please don't hurt us."

The freak thought about it.

"No," she decided. Vernon's blood ran cold. "I begged. And you always hurt me. What comes around goes around."

She lifted her foot off his head and Vernon swung wildly, trying to hit her. The demon stopped him with his powers. The last thing Vernon saw was a heeled boot coming straight towards his face. 

...

Petunia screamed as the freak knocked Vernon out with a swift kick. No sound came from her throat. The freak turned to her and Petunia tried to scramble away. 

"And you," the freak hissed, so close that Petunia could see the unnatural split pupils of her eyes. "You starved me, worked me like a slave, and punished me for _breathing_."

The gag disappeared and Petunia found her voice. 

"Please," she sobbed, "don't kill us, please, we'll leave you along, please!"

"I know you'll leave me alone," the freak scoffed. "And I'm not going to kill you. I'm just going to hurt you really, really bad."

She swung her hand back and punched Petunia so hard that her vision went white. The next thing she knew, she was sprawled on the vomit-covered floor with agony radiating from her eye.Then the freak seized her hand and Petunia wailed, trying to pull away. She knew what was going to happen next!

"Do you remember," the freak said softly, "the time that you caught me sneaking leftovers one night? I was six, maybe seven. You had the walrus break my fingers, one by one."

"Please," Petunia gasped, "please. Please." That was all she could say. 

The freak started to pull back her little finger. Petunia squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the _snap_. It didn't come. She waited for several trembling moments longer before looking up. The freak was staring at her with an expression of disgust. 

"You're not worth it," she murmured, releasing Petunia and backing away. Petunia curled her hands into her chest and sobbed. 

"You're sure?" the boy freak asked. Petunia flinched at the sound of his voice.

"Positive. I'm not going to let some pathetic muggle bitch turn me into a monster."

"So you're just going to let them go?" He sounded disapproving. The freak laughed, crushing Petunia's hopes.

"Of course not! No, I'm going to do the worst thing I can to them." The freak got right up in Petunia's face. "I'm going to let them live. I'm even going to leave them mostly unharmed. And I'm going to walk out that door and do everything I can to destroy their precious reputation for good."

"No!" The cry ripped out of her before Petunia could stop it. The freak cooed sympatheticly, teaching out to pat Petunia's bruised cheek.

"There there, Tuney. It'll only ruin your life." Petunia's heart stopped. For an instant, she saw another girl standing there, one with crimson hair and much more human eyes. And she knew. This was Lily's revenge from beyond the grave.

The freak stepped back, pleased with her reaction.

The boy freak chuckled. "Not bad, little love."

"Thanks Tommy. I'm pretty proud myself. Now, giraffe. This is what you're going to do. You'll call walrus's work and tell them you've both fallen ill and he won't be coming in for a few weeks. You'll tell your fake little housewife friends the same thing."

"And w-what if I don't?" Petunia stuttered. The freak had said she wouldn't hurt her any more, after all. 

"Then you'll have no excuses for your absence for the next fourteen days. Because believe me, you're not leaving this house until I'm gone."

Trembling, Petunia nodded. 

"Fantastic. You do that and then get to work cleaning this place up. Walrus can help you once he wakes up. Spit spot!"

Petunia struggled to her feet and edged her way towards the telephone. The freaks watched her with open, malicious amusement. Petunia felt a surge of hatred. That unnatural flith had no right to do this to her!

She picked up the phone and dialed Yvonne.

"Hel—"

"It's Petunia! We're being attacked! Call the police—ah!" Petunia dropped the phone, falling to the floor under the force of unnatural powers. 

"Damn," the freak said, sounding remarkably unconcerned. "I really didn't think she was that stupid."

"Just you wait," Petunia cried, hysterical laughter bubbling up from her chest. "The authorities will come and then you'll be sorry!"

"That's some impressive idiocy," the other freak snorted. He too didn't seem worried. Petunia felt a spark of fear return to her stomach. 

"You better leave while you still can," she tried, incredibly aware of how her voice was shaking. 

"We'll leave when we want to and not a second before, muggle," the boy freak said sharply. He flicked his wand. "Scourgify."

Petunia shrieked as the mess on the walls and floor vanished as if it had never been there. He said another freakish word and the shattered crockery in the corner reformed and settled light in its place. She yelped again.

"Merlin, do you ever shut up? Silencio!"

Petunia touched her throat and terrified. She couldn't speak! She couldn't speak! 

The boy freak nodded in satisfaction. "Much better. Now, let's get the walrus up. Rennervate."

Vernon jolted upright and the other freak did the thing that stopped him from talking too. In the distance, sirens wailed and hope filled her chest. Vernon took her hand and Petunia squeezed it right. 

The boy freak laughed. "So hopeful. Imperio!"

...

Ettie didn't approve of mind control, but she would admit there was a certain satisfaction in watching the Dursleys send away their only hope of rescue.

"I didn't think she would actually call," Petunia tittered, "but Yvonne has always been a bit daft, you know?"

"I see," the officer said curtly. "In the future, please refrain from involving the law in your schoolgirl pranks."

He turned and left. Petunia and Vernon laughed sheepishly and shut the door. As soon as the police car drove away, Tom released them from the Imperius Curse. 

The resulting breakdown was beautiful. 

...

It took half a week for the entire school to be released from the Infirmary, even with Madame Pomfrey and two other Healers hard at work. Aurora, quite frankly, was having the time of her life. It was hilarious!

The teachers were exhausted and furious. The students were angry and unapologetic. Classes were cancelled for an entire week in favor of all-day detentions and disappointed lectures. The house elves got a break, the poor creatures, because all students were required to clean their own living spaces. Now, granted, it wasn't ideal that Slytherin was being punished more harshly as the supposed agressors, but seeing her own House vilified wasn't anything new. 

Aurora couldn't wait until Potter returned from her suspension. Either the school would ignite into another all-out war or her return would crush the hopes of all the little brats who thought they'd gotten her expelled. Maybe even both!

"What are you smirking about?" Severus drawled as he entered the staff room. 

"The same thing you would be smirking about if you weren't such a sourpuss," Aurora shot back. 

"I will admit it is amusing. But don't you have a reputation to uphold? Wouldn't want the other teachers getting suspicious that you aren't the sweet little Hufflepuff you pretend to be."

"Please, I would never pretend to be a Hufflepuff," Aurora cried. "It's not my fault they drew the conclusion on their own."

"Quite." Severus opened the hidden compartment behind his chair and retrieved a bottle of whiskey. He took a swig and passed the bottle to her. 

"To Slythein House," she toasted. "May we never get caught."

"May we never get caught."

...

"Let's go out," Ettie said on the third day of her suspension. "I'm bored."

Tom didn't look at her. He was making eye contact with Petunia as he threw her best china to the floor one at a time. She cringed like every saucer was a newborn. 

"I don't know. I'm perfectly entertained."

Ettie sighed. "Please? I want to do more reputation ruining!"

Petunia sudden looked as though all her mother's china shattering before her eyes was much less painful. That was what changed Tom's mind, just as she had planned. 

"Alright," he agreed reluctantly. "But only for a little while."

"Whatever you want," Ettie said. She jogged up the stairs to Dudley's second bedroom, which the Dursleys had cleaned out and furnished with their own bed, wardrobe and desk. She opened the wardrobe and pulled out a few the choice specimens of Dudley's old clothes: a green plaid long sleeved shirt, a black band t-shirt, and ripped jeans that the pig had worn when he was about six. They were only slightly short in the leg and much too large around the waist, but that's what belts were for. 

Paired with her usual boots, black lipstick, and snake jewelry, Ettie looked perfectly badass and muggle enough to pass muster. 

She went downstairs to find Tom in a Transfigured muggle suit that came straight out of the twenties. 

"No," she said. He narrowed his eyes dangerously.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You look about seventy years out of date," Ettie explained, "and no modern teenager would be caught dead wearing an actual suit."

"I refuse to galavant about looking like a common urchin," he said stiffly. 

"Oh Tommy, believe me, you won't. Now, let me see here..."

Ten minutes later, Ettie gazed proudly at her creation, ignoring the little flutter of attraction in her stomach. Tom wore a white dress shirt with the top two buttons undone and dark jeans a little tighter than the current fashion really called for. A baggy leather jacket was thrown over the top. To complete the outfit were classy brown shoes and a matching belt. Now all she had to do was get him to wear the necklace...

"I will not," he said stubbornly. 

"It will add an edge," she said patiently, "otherwise you just look like a swot trying to be cool."

"Do I care?" Tom sniffed. "Let the muggles think what they will. They are beneath me."

"Well I don't want to be seen with a swot," she said. "You look ridiculous."

"I do not. I never look ridiculous."

Ettie laughed because she knew it would irritate him, though he was right. "Maybe that was true in the nineteen forties or whenever you're from. But now?"

Tom shook his head. "Only girls and homosexuals wear necklaces. I'm neither."

"First of all that's offensive," Ettie said, "and secondly it's incorrect. Didn't Salazar Slytherin wear a locket?"

Tom hesitated. "Well...yes."

"And wasn't he one of the most powerful wizards of all time?"

"Yes. And I know what you're doing."

"But is it working?" Ettie retorted. He scowled at her.

"Decidedly not."

"Fine," Ettie huffed, pulling out the ace. "No kiss for you then."

"Kiss?"

 _Oh,_ now _he's listening_. 

"That's right," Ettie said, examining her short black claws. "Too bad, huh?"

When she looked up, Tom was wearing the necklace and smirking. Her heart fluttered. She smiled back, reaching up on her tiptoes. Tom ducked his head towards her. Ettie sank her hands into his hair, purposefully messing it up...and gave him a peck on the nose. 

She pulled back and burst into laughter. Tom was practically pouting at her.

"Sneak," he accused.

"Always," she agreed, "but you knew that. Now let's go already!"

They went. 

"I want to go to _La Serene_ ," Ettie said. "It's the Dursleys' favorite place to go when they want to feel sophisticated. All their richer friends eat there every weekend."

"It doesn't make a difference to me," Tom said. Then he registered that Ettie was walking towards the walrus's shiny new car. "Wait. We're not taking that, are we?"

"Of course we are!" Ettie grinned. "Don't worry. I'm a very good driver."

She pulled out Vernon's keys and opened the door. Her feet barely reached the pedals and she had to crane her neck to see over the steering wheel. Oh, this was going to be _fun_. 

"This is so illegal," Tom said as he got in the car. But he didn't sound disapproving in the slightest. 

"Completely."

Ettie backed her car out, automatically looking over her shoulder as she did. Mrs Number Five peeked out through her curtains as Ettie revert the engine. Her jaw dropped. Ettie waved cheerfully. 

"That'll be across the neighborhood before the hour is over," Ettie said in satisfaction. Tom chuckled.

"You know, automobiles have gotten much more comfortable in the last fifty years," he commented, watching suburbia roll by as Ettie sped downtown. 

"Just wait until the two thousands hit," she said. "You'll really be surprised then."

"You act as though you've already witnessed it." He side eyed her.

Ettie silently cursed her slip but played it casual. "Maybe I have. I have all sorts of crazy dreams."

"Sometimes I forget you're a Seer," Tom said. "How does it work?"

Thank Merlin for Luna. "It's something of a sixth sense that I can't consciously access. What I do remember from the dreams isn't always clear but sometimes I get lucky. Only about little things though. I know when to avoid a certain corridor because the Demon Twins pranked it but I had no clue that Voldemort was back in my First Year."

"That sounds frustrating and ineffectual."

"And thus you have Divination in a nutshell," Ettie snickered. "It's why you don't see minor Seers clogging the streets offering to tell people their grand destinies. Only the most powerful can really see destiny, and even then nothing is set in stone."

"Could you try on me?" Tom asked curiously. Ettie gave him an incredulous glance. 

"I just told you all the reasons that Divination is subjective and unreliable and you still want me to read your fortune?"

"Yes."

"...Well okay then. I'll do it at the restaurant. See if we can freak the muggles out."

Tom cracked his beautiful ugly smile. "Sounds like a plan."

Ettie smirked and turned on the radio, finding a rock station soon enough.

"—I feel stupid and contagious," she sang, "here we are now; entertain us!"

"What the hell is this?" Tom asked, his voice halfway between baffled and fascinated.

"Nirvana," Ettie giggled. "Welcome to the 90s, Tommy!"

"It sounds like a man with a head cold banging kitchen pots together," he stated.

"Right? It's awesome."

"There...is a certain quality to it that draws the attention," Tom admitted. He was frowning thoughtfully when she glanced over at him. "I can't quite put my finger on it."

"Teenage angst, anger, disappointment," Ettie listed. "Being misunderstood, hating the world, wanting to fight someone."

"Perhaps," Tom said. "It's very strange. I'm not used to relating to music."

"Everybody relates to Nirvana at one point or another," Ettie assured him. She turned onto main street and felt the first stirrings of nerves. She hadn't driven in quite a while and British road laws were pretty different from American ones. 

Still, she made it to _La Serene_ without major incident. It was surreal to walk up the carpeted steps into the classy muggle restaurant with Baby Voldemort by her side.

The greeter dude's smile became strained as he saw them enter. Tom was dressed for the place well enough. Ettie was not. 

"How can I help you?" he asked with a noticably fake French accent. 

"Vous pouvez commencer par vous débarrasser de cet accent affreux*," Tom said, turning his nose up. Ettie didn't bother to stifle her laugh at the man's embarrassed face. 

"I'm sorry, I don't speak French," he managed. 

"Yes, this is patently obvious," Tom sneered. "We will have a table for two."

"Of course, right away. Please wait here."

He turned and went deeper into the restaurant, trying and failing not to look like he was running away. Ettie raised an eyebrow at Tom.

"Where did you learn to speak French?"

"One of the aides in the orphanage was from France. I think she only taught me because she was afraid I would set fire to the place if I didn't have something to keep me busy."

"I'm surprised you didn't light it on fire anyway," she said. 

"No, I did. Unfortunately the fire station was two streets over," Tom admitted candidly. 

"Not the best planning."

"Well, I was four." 

They laughed.

"Now wait just a minute," a posh voice called. Tom and Ettie turned in unison and her heart leapt with glee. It was Adeline and Charles Polkiss, parents of the pig's closest friend. Also coincidentally one of the richest families in Little Whinging. Apparently they had just finished their lunch. 

"Aren't you the Dursleys' niece? Henrietta something," Polkiss the Female Edition said.

"Yes, what the devil are you doing here? I thought you'd ran off with some pimp!"

"I beg your pardon?" Tom said in a voice so dangerous that Male Polkiss took a half step back.

"We mean no offense," Female Polkiss said quickly. "It's only what we were told."

"Well it's preposterous," Tom snapped, "and a vicious lie, considering that those Dursley people were the ones who abandoned her!"

" _What?_ "

"But that's impossible," Male Polkiss protested. "Vernon and Petunia would never do such a thing!"

"Oh wouldn't they? If you believe they're the kind of people who would let an eleven year old girl run off with a man who sells girls for sex, why is it so hard to believe they would abandon the girl entirely?"

The couple fidgeted. 

"Are you really only eleven?" Male Polkiss asked Ettie. 

"I'm thirteen now, but yeah. I'd just turned eleven when they kicked me out," Ettie muttered as if uncomfortable, shifting from side to side. Tom put a protective arm around her and Female Polkiss covered her mouth delicately. 

"I don't believe it," Male Polkiss said, but much of the certainty had left his voice. 

"Then you are a willing fool," Tom retorted, "to disregard what lays before your very nose."

"Now see here, young man," Polkiss the Male began, but his wife put a hand on his arm.

"Not here, dear," she urged. "People are already staring."

This was true. The other people in the waiting area were doing a terrible job of pretending they weren't listening in. Ettie spotted Mr and Mrs Number Ten in the crowd. Tom swept a glare across the room and several people became very interested in the walls. One man left entirely. 

"Excuse me? You're table is ready."

"As _pleasnt_ as this has been, we must go." Tom nodded curtly and then swept off after the waiter, Ettie still under his arm. 

Dinner was nice even though they got kicked out. Ettie ordered frog legs and Tom got something fancy and French sounding. Then she read his tea cup for him. They got kicked out because she predicted Tom would be cursed to fall into a coma and be revived by a kiss. He threw something green and squishy at her and she retaliated by dumping her water over his head. 

After that, Ettie drove them back to Privet Drive. There was a minor incident wherein Ettie forgot that the British drove on the wrong side of the road, but nobody died and Tom's magic kept the officer from arresting them, so everything was fine. 

When they entered the house, Vernon was hovering about the window, staring in horror at his precious car. 

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO DAFFY?!"

"You named the car Daffy? That's...wow," Ettie said. Walrus charged her. Tom flicked his wand and sighed through his nose as he fell in a heap. Giraffe started wailing again. He stunned her too.

"Goodnight, little love," Tom said, "I had a wonderful time ruining your muggles' lives."

"Goodnight Tommy," Ettie replied. "We should do it again some time."

They shared a smile and went to bed, leaving the Dursleys unconscious on the floor. 

...

Hannah, due to being in the Forbidden Forest at the time of what people were calling the Slytherin War, had plenty of detention but not half as much as all her friends. She was grateful, not because she was afraid of the work, but because it gave her a chance to hide.

She had made the right decision. The only problem was that in doing so Hannah had betrayed the trust of the people she cared about. Good intentions or not, that sort of thing wasn't just forgiven. No matter what the Headmistress seemed to think.

And that was another thing. McGonagall kept calling Hannah to her office for tea. At first she mostly asked about the Queen's Gambit Club but after the first week she was asking after Hannah's classes, how she was feeling, what she was doing in her free time.

It was strange, having an adult so invested in her life. Mother didn't care beyond making sure she acted like a Proper Light Witch who despised all things Dark. Nevermind that she never actually defined what Dark meant. Hannah just assumed it meant evil. 

"Hannah," a voice hissed. She jumped and barely held back a shriek. Ron Weasley grinned at her from behind a tapestry. "C'mere."

She glanced around to make sure nobody was looking and then hurried over. The secret passage was dark and Hannah lit her replacement wand. Ron wouldn't have his, after all. None of the people involved in the Slytherin War was allowed their wands for another week. 

"What is it?" she whispered. To her surprise, Ron wrapped her in a brief but tight hug. 

"Thank you," he said fervently. "We haven't had a chance to tell you before, but...wow. Hannah, you're a hero! You carried the entire operation on your back, got stranded in the Forbidden Forest and then survived Potter herself!"

"Oh," Hannah said stupidly. Ron took her hands and looked at her earnestly. 

"Anything you need, ever, just let us know. The whole club is in agreement. We owe you big time. You're the reason Potter is gone!"

Before Hannah could respond, though she had no idea what she would say, Ron glanced at his watch and winced. 

"I gotta go. The Twins can only distract Filch for so long. But thanks again, Hannah. You've got the heart of a Gryffindor."

And then he was gone, leaving Hannah standing there with more guilt than ever before. 

...

By the end of the first and a bit week of her suspension, every one of the Dursleys' so-called friends were convinced that the Dursleys were irresponsible, child-neglecting alcoholics. They believed the walrus slept with his former assistant, who moved to London to get away from him, and that giraffe had been a porn star in her younger years. And most importantly, _everybody_ knew that Petunia's sister and brother-in-law used to be members of a cult that believed in magic, and that was what got them killed.

Now nobody wanted to be seen associating with the Dursleys in case they went the same way...which was actually somewhat likely.

Ettie was delighted. Every evening she told the Dursleys what she had done to ruin them that day. Petunia cried a lot and occasionally tried to throw things at her. Vernon, the moron, kept attacking as if it would work any better than it did the first six times. 

Tom was having fun too. Ettie had begun showing him the good bits of muggle culture—music, Star Wars, modern dance, graffiti art, parkour. Not that he really took to the last one. Still, Ettie thought it was awesome and used the free time she suddenly had to practice the moves she had once known by heart. 

Tom, on the other hand, spent his free time reading up on all the history he had missed while stuck in a book. He was reluctantly impressed with how far the sciences had come.

Unfortunately, all good things come to a sticky end. Theirs arrived in the form of a shared dream with Voldemort.

"You've spent long enough laying about with the muggles," he said to Tom. "It's past time you return to the Manor and take care of your responsibilities."

"It's dragon dung," Tom told her angrily the next day. "I don't _have_ any responsibilities. He doesn't trust me that much, which I find both ironic and somewhat disturbing."

But dragon dung or not, when Lord Voldemort called, you came. Before he left, Tom set up wards around her bedroom to keep the Dursleys out. It would be up to her to avoid getting clobbered while elsewhere.

Ettie decided it was in her best interests to stay out of the house as much as possible and only leave through the window. She still had the entirety of the Dursleys' wallets and hidden savings, so she was going shopping!

Ettie took the train to London, where she happily went to all of the most expensive shops and got a variety of authentic 90s clothing and a badass pair of fingerless leather gloves could convert into normal ones. She planned on enchanting them to amplify the force of her punches in case there was ever another incident like First Year. 

She got back to suburbia without incident. It was a bit of a chore getting her bags through the second floor window but Ettie managed. She dropped them on the floor and herself into bed. Spite shopping was fun and all, but there was an exhausting amount of people in London. 

Ettie closed her eyes—

—and woke up some time later, coughing and gagging. Smoke filled the air. She threw herself out of bed and onto the floor, covering her mouth and nose. She crawled towards the window, yanking at it desperately, only to find it locked from the outside. 

Rage joined the terror. The Dursleys did this. They were trying to _kill_ her. Ettie very calmly took two steps back, shifted her weight, and kicked out the window. She grabbed a blanket and her massive water jug and set about trying to smother the fire the Dursleys had started on her door.

It was no use. It had spread too far. So Ettie gathered up all her stuff and threw it out the window, then climbed out herself. She sat on the curb and watched as Number Four, Privet Drive went up in flames. The authorities arrived before long. The fire fighters bundled her up and a police man took her to the hospital, where she was treated for smoke inhalation.

As her relatives had mysteriously vanished and that bulldog Marge refused to take her, Ettie was released from the hospital into a Children's Home, aka orphanage. She stayed there for exactly three days before McGonagall showed up to bring her back to Hogwarts. 

...

Minerva entered the Children's Home and looked around with approval. It was bright and cheerful, with murals on the walls, and impeccably clean. 

"Hi! How may I help you?"

"Hello," Minerva greeted the muggle woman behind the front desk. "I am Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of St Anthony's School for the Gifted. One of my students arrived here recently, a Miss Harriet Potter?"

"Oh! Yes, of course! Do you have your verification with you?"

Minerva handed her a blank sheet of enchanted paper. She studied it intently before nodding.

"Everything seems to be in order. Has Harriet's suspension run its course, then?"

"Indeed," Minerva said. 

"I'll call right away." She reached for the telephone and had a brief conversation with another worker. "Harriet is on her way down. I can have a few of the boys help you load her things into the car if you'd like?"

"That won't be necessary, thank you."

"Alright."

Miss Potter appeared a few moments later, dragging her trunk behind her. 

"Professor," she said. 

"Miss Potter. Are you ready to depart?"

She nodded silently. Minerva bade the muggle woman goodbye for them both and then led Miss Potter out the door and to the alley where they could safely apparate.

They reappeared just outside the gates. Minerva returned her wand and called an elf to take Miss Potter's trunk.

"Missy Potter!" the elf squeaked. To her shock, Potter crouched down an gave the thing a hug. 

"Hey Tippy," she said fondly. _Fondly_. "How has work been?"

"Oh, dreadful! The students is being made to clean their own rooms and now we elves is having _breaks!_ "

"I'm sorry, Tip. I can make a few messes for you if you'd like," she offered. 

"Missy is too kind," the elf—Tippy, apparently—gushed, something nobody had ever accused Miss Potter of being. 

"Mm, not really. But thanks."

"Missy Potter is welcome," the elf chirped. "Tippy will be taking your things now. Oh! You missed breakfast. Would you like Tippy to fetch you something from the kitchens?"

"Sure," Potter said, "the usual would be nice."

The elf bowed to them both and popped away. Minerva raised an eyebrow at the girl, who looked back stoically. They began walking towards the school. 

"Not many witches can say they're friends with a house elf," she commented. 

"I'm not most witches, in case you haven't noticed."

"True enough. Miss Potter...may I speak to you about the incident with the fire?" Minerva said. 

Miss Potter glanced up warily. "I didn't start it."

"No, of course not," Minerva assured her. "The police report was quite clear. There's no way you could have."

"You read the police report?" she said incredulously. 

"Of course. The Headmistress is notified by the Ministry whenever a student has a run in with the muggle law."

"Oh. Then what did you want to talk about?"

Minerva stopped walking and put a hand on her shoulder. Miss Potter flinched and she removed it, heart aching. 

"The report said your Aunt and Uncle started the blaze just outside your bedroom door," Minerva began gently.

"They tried to kill me, I know," she interrupted. "No, I'm not traumatized. No, I don't need hot chocolate or therapy or to talk about it. I'm fine."

Minerva pressed her lips together, but she sensed that pressing further now would not end well. She let it go. They walked in silence until they reached the school. 

"You may go straight to your Common Room. The students are being confined there until tomorrow as punishment for the Slytherin War."

Potter nodded and strode off. Minerva sighed as she watched her go. 

"That child," she murmured to herself.

...

Ettie walked into the Snake Pit to dead silence. Then, all as one, the entire room leapt to their feet and burst into applause. Her people surrounded her, grinning and cheering. A few patted her arm or back. Blaise planted a daring kiss on her cheek which she only allowed because it was Blaise. 

Someone draped Ebony over her neck. He was hissing enthusiasticly, but everything was so loud that she couldn't make out what he was saying. 

"Po—tter! Po—tter! Po—tter!" the crowd chanted. The Head girl set off fireworks from her wand. Ettie felt a smile trying to pull on her lips, and for once, she let it bloom. It might have been her imagination, but she thought the crowd cheered harder.

...

That night, after a truly mind-numbing set of lectures from Professors Sprout and Vector, Ettie gathered her people together and snuck out using one of the Chamber passages that Tom had told her about. The meeting wasn't actually Ettie's idea, but rather the result of popular demand. 

"Do it," Blaise advised her, a twinkle in his eye. So Ettie did. Once they were all gathered (someone had somehow gotten ahold of Luna, even) she faced her foll—her people and raised an eyebrow. 

"Well?"

Everybody looked to Blaise. He cleared his throat and stepped forward. 

"Milady," he began, "we have come to an agreement that, should you be amenable, we...we would like to take your Mark."

Ettie blinked once. "My Mark," she repeated. 

"Yes, milady."

"I see," she said mildly, mind racing. She knew how Marks worked—she had read up on them last summer and found the entire idea fascinating. It had started thousands of years ago, when witches and wizards still lived in covens for safety. The leader would magically burn a symbol or image into the members of their coven. Through that Mark, people could enter wards set by the one who Marked them, track one another, and communicate over any distance. In modern days, where covens had mostly faded into simple communities, taking someone's Mark was a big deal. 

"Are you entirely sure about this?" she asked sternly, meeting everyone's gaze one by one. They all looked resolute.

"Absolutely."

"No doubt in my mind."

"I would love to join your coven."

Ettie felt something warm bloom in her stomach. They all...they _really_...they trusted her. Really and truly trusted her.

"Okay then," Ettie said. Her people cheered.

"BUT."

They went quiet.

"But first we have to have a name," she said.

"A coven without a name is cursed with bad luck, you know," Luna piped up.

"Exactly," Ettie said, though that wasn't really why she wanted a name. "Any suggestions?"

Darkness Rising was rejected for being too corny. The Home Guard was vetoed because it was too sissy. The Snake Society sounded dumb. White Cobra reminded her too much of Cobra Kai. The Order of the Viridian Dragon was hella dramatic. 

~Ebony serpents,~ Ebony said, completely serious.

"What about the Curators of Chaos?" Luna suggested. Ettie tilted her head to the side. "Or the Emerald Fang? Or the Serpent's Shadow? Or the Black Kiss? Or—"

"I like the Black Kiss," Ettie said, touching her own lips. "What about you lot?"

The response was mixed. 

"You know what, we'll decide later," Ettie said. "Now, what should the Mark be?"

"You're asking us that? It's your Mark," Blaise pointed out. 

"Yes, but you're the ones who have to wear it." She let them debate for a while, but the argument was surprisingly short.

"A lightning bolt."

Ettie touched her forehead and gave them a smile. "All right then. Blaise, you first."

He walked up to her and knelt down. "Where do you want it?" she asked.

"On the inside of my wrist," he said after a pause. 

"Okay. This is going to hurt," she warned. "Cutis ardeat!"

Ettie focused hard on the image of a simplistic lightning bolt, blocking out the sound of Blaise's choked scream with difficulty. Thankfully the process was a short one. Blaise panted and clutched his wrist but he was grinning. 

"Thank you milady." He showed off his Mark to much applause, a neat black zigzag surrounded by irritated skin. 

"Now Luna." She came skipping up. "Where do you want it?"

"Behind my left ear, please!"

Ettie did as she was told. Luna's scream was loud and unrestrained and nearly gave Ettie a heart attack. At least she got a hug out of it.

Her Inner Circle was Marked one by one, and then the rest of her people. Most of them got it on their inner frost or forearm, but Tracey wanted hers on the inside edge of her pointed finger, Marcus, Anabelle and Adrian has theirs over their hearts, and Damian chose his ankle. 

After they were all Marked came the tricky bit. 

"Okay," she said, lifting Ebony from her shoulders and letting him slither away. "I'm going to sit here and you lot are going to make circles around me. Put your hands on the shoulders of the person in front of you, which for the innermost circle means me. You can grab my arms if you need to."

It took several minutes for everyone to get situated. When they had, Ettie closed her eyes and thought of an appropriate word. The word would be a key of sorts, not a real spell but one that invoked the magic of her Marks. In the end she just decided on 'fulem', the latin word for lightning bolt.

"Fulmen," she murmured. "Concateno. Ligabis simul. Colligo. Comunico. Fulmen. Concateno. Ligabis simul. Colligo. Comunico. Fulem..."

She chanted the same words over and over again, thinking of all the things she wanted to happen, until her magic got the idea. Link, tie together, share, connect.

Then, as if in a trance, her mind expanded further and more words began spilling from her mouth. Words she didn't even know. Words that let her people communicate with each other and not just her. Words that had the Mark change color depending on what she wanted to convey, to heat up when she summoned them, to pulse when she was in danger, to let them locate one another at all times, through any wards. 

When Ettie opened her eyes, all out of words, her mouth fell open slightly. The candles has long since dimmed and the Marks were glowing in the darkness, flashing every color of the rainbow, brighter and brighter. As she watched, they slowly dimmed and her people blinked their eyes open.

"Finished," Ettie said, her tongue tired and leaden. 

Her people slowly stood, the time the ritual room manifest in their stuff muscles.

"I'll teach you how to use them tomorrow," she said. "But for now, let's go to sleep."

...

Ettie, having exerted the hell out of herself magically speaking and then gotten three hours of sleep, was already irritated when she arrived at breakfast. Half the school jumping to their feet and screaming protests just pissed her off. 

"QUIET," McGonagall roared. "HOW DARE YOU?! AFTER THE PAST TWO WEEKS ONE WOULD THINK YOU WOULD KNOW BETTER THAN TO START RIOTS IN THE SCHOOL!"

Everyone settled down, but there were many poisonous looks and quite a few rude gestures. Ettie, who now had a headache on top of her sleep deprivation, physically could not care less. 

...

_I thought she was expelled. Why is she not expelled!?_

Ron ran his hands through his hair and stared at his desk, completely ignoring whatever Flickwick was going on about. They had successfully framed Potter for attempted murder. How the bloody hell had she weasled her way out of _that_?

"What are we going to do?" Dean whispered. Ron bit his lip.

"We can't try again this year," he decided eventually. "Exams are in two weeks. Hermione would kill us.'

He smiled weakly at the half-hearted joke. 

"Pay attention, Mr Weasley, Mr Thomas," Flickwick called. Ron sat up and put his quill to his parchment, but all that swirled through his mind was ways to make Potter burn. 

...

That night, Ettie dreamed of Voldemort. 

"I need you to do something for me," he said without fanfare. 

"Hello to you too," she muttered. Voldemort got her with a stinging hex in response. 

"You will exorcise the ghost of Cuthbert Binns."

Ettie perked up. "Ooh, fun. Why?"

"I plan to install one of my own operatives as the new History Professor. Now go. I tire of your presence."

Ettie obeyed. The dream changed to a rainbow of lightning bolts dancing mockingly over a big fat snake...

...

You would think exorcizing a ghost would be an exciting affair, but really all Ettie had to do was copy a set of runes onto his desk, wait for him to show up the next day, and boom! No more Professor Binns. 

And even better, History was now study hall, which Ettie greatly appreciated. She was determined not to be tortured this summer, and that meant getting all Os. She couldn't afford any distractions either, which was why she was glad Ron Weasley's gang had back off for now. If they'd tried anything she would've hexed them all inside out and then all her free time would be taken up with detention instead of studying.

In fact, studying was pretty much the only thing she did in the weeks leading up to exam time. Other than teach her people (still unnamed) how to communicate with their Marks, she kept her nose buried in a book, stuck in flashcards, or to her paper. 

...

Ettie's first exam was Divination. She identified all the correct symbols in her tea dregs, remembered what all the lines on someone's palm meant, saw an omen of the death of two people in her crystal ball, and all in all kicked ass.

Next was Transfiguration. The temporary teacher made the test incredibly easy. All they had to do was turn a mouse into a snuffbox and finish a multiple choice test. Multiple choice!

Charms was a bit harder because Flickwick was actually a good teacher, no matter how much of a traitorous little bastard, but Ettie was confident she had gotten that O as well. 

Runes was a breeze and there was nothing else to say about it. It was all memorization at that stage. 

Astronomy was more memorization but Sinistra threw in several tricky questions about how the movements of the stars related to Divination and Arithmancy. That woman was sharper than she made herself out to be. 

Herbology was...well, that was the one Ettie worried about. Someone dropped a pair of jumping beans down the back of her shirt while she was trying to plant her mandrake, so the plant got a little bruised up. 

Defense was her favorite by far. They had to run an obstacle course of various dangerous creatures, with a prize to the one who got through the fastest. Ettie was that someone and she relished the massive bar of Honeydukes dark chocolate that she received. 

...

Once exams were over, Ettie spent her days drilling her people in the Chamber, lazing about in the sun with Luna, and getting very good at detecting pranks and traps before they went off. One could almost call it idyllic. It was a wonderful way to end the school year. Though she supposed anything would beat being shipped off to a mental hospital or kidnapped by a baby Dark Lord.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment which name you like best for Ettie's people. Feel more than free to suggest your own. 
> 
> I have also been thinking about changing the summary. If you would like to suggest one, please put it in the comments.
> 
> *You can start by getting rid of that awful accent.


	6. count my cards, watch them fall

Ettie was pissed. Why? Because she was going back to the Children's Home. The Ministry had suddenly realized that they didn't know where she had spent the last summer so now she couldn't stay at Slytherin Manor anymore. 

And she couldn't even pretend to go back and then run off and stay in a hotel or something because McGonagall had contacted the orphanage and they were sending a representative to pick her up from the train station. Yay McGonagall. 

"Do you need me to take Ebony?" Blaise asked as the train slowed to a stop.

"Nah," Ettie decided. "Hopefully he'll keep the brats out of my room."

"Good luck," Blaise said, touching her arm briefly. She grimaced. 

"Thanks."

"I'll write you every day," Luna chirped. "Don't let the wrackspurts get you down!"

"You too. Bye."

Ettie stopped in the bathroom to change into her stylishly grungy muggle clothes. She Transfigured a nice cage for Ebony and carried it under her arm. Then, scowling all the while, she stomped off the platform to where Miss Linda Fairview, the sickeningly cheerful orphanage worker, was waiting. 

"Harriet!" she cried, opening her arms as if Ettie would ever in a million years give her a hug. "Welcome back! How was school?"

Ettie grunted and kept walking. This was going to be a nightmare. 

...

Tom had an idea. He waited until Voldemort was done with his work for the day and about to read a book on the newest discovered curses to bring it up.

"I've an idea for getting Ettie out of the orphanage," he said without preamble. That was one of the only good things about talking to Voldemort. He didn't need to bother with subtlety or tact. They did enough of that during the day that by evening they had an unspoken agreement to just spit it out. 

"Go on," Voldemort commanded.

"We could wipe Pettigrew's most recent memories and turn him in," Tom said. "That would clear Sirius Black's name and give her someplace legitimate to stay."

Voldemort looked up from his book. 

"You want me to clear the name of one of the most talented of my enemies left alive, betraying my servant in the process."

"Yep," Tom said cheerfully. "Because Black's a devout member of the Order of the Phoenix and if Ettie is living with him she can get all sorts of information for us."

Voldemort hummed, stroking Nagini's head. "Perhaps. But I already have a spy in the Order."

"Not one you trust," Tom scoffed. "Have you even summoned Snape yet?"

"No," Voldemort admitted. "His closeness to the girl has caused me to doubt his loyalties. I will think on what you say. But in the mean time, leave me be. I've had enough prattle for the day."

...

Ettie was about to punch someone. With her super gloves. _In the_ _face_. 

"Harriet," someone sang, "don't forget it's your turn to do the cleaning!"

"Fuck off Karen," Ettie snapped in reply. "It's your turn and you know it."

Karen—and yes, that really was her name—gave her the stupidest little pout. "Aww, you caught me. But if I tell Linda it was your day, she'll believe me, not... _you_."

Ettie sat up. Karen smiled smugly at her, so certain of her victory. Ettie walked towards her slowly, heels clicking with each step. Karen's smile faltered. She tried to move to the side but Ettie's hand shot out and grabbed the collar of her shirt. 

She yanked the older girl down to eye level and hissed in her face, "If you think I give a shit, you are tragically mistaken. But your voice is annoying me. So if you don't shut up, _I'll_ shut you up. Permanently."

Ettie shoved her away and stalked out of the room. 

...

Sirius stared at the headline of the _Daily Prophet_ with his mouth hanging wide open.

 **Peter Pettigrew found alive,** it proclaimed. **Confesses to the mixer of thirteen muggles and betraying the Potters! Sirius Black innocent, Minister offers full pardon!**

He slowly sat down. Remus made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. 

"You're free," he croaked, "Sirius, you're—you're free!"

"I'm free," Sirius repeated dumbly.

"You're free!"

"I'm FREE!"

"YOU'RE FREE!"

Crying, they collided in a hug. Sirius whooped and held the newspaper above his head, spinning about. 

"I'M FREEEEE! Moony, I could kiss you right now!" he exclaimed.

"What's stopping you?" Remus yelled, grinning. Sirius barked a laugh and leaned in, pecking him on the lips. Remus, who hadn't expected him to do it (silly Moony, he should know better by now), went bright red, then burst out laughing.

"This calls for a drink!"

"At eight o'clock in the morning?! Why Moony, I knew I've been a bad influence on you!" he said jovially, accepting the bottle that Remus summoned from the cupboard. 

"To Freedom," Sirius toasted.

"To Harry," Remus said. Sirius dropped his glass.

"HARRY!" he bellowed, clutching his hair. "Harry! You—we can rescue Bambi from the orphanage! We have to go right now!"

"Right now? I'm not sure if the muggles know you're innocent yet—"

" _Right now_ ," Sirius said firmly. "Merlin, I have to take a shower—and clothes, I need clothes! Muggle ones. Remus! Can you Transfigure me some muggle clothes while I take a shower?"

"I can do that," Remus agreed with a sigh. 

"Thanks Moons!"

And Sirius was off, bounding up the stairs to the bathroom and stripping as he went. 

...

Ettie was dreaming. She was wading through a field of flowers but they kept dripping blood on her. Ettie tried to wipe it off but it just spread more and more—

"Ettie," Tom said. And abruptly she was sitting in the Snake Pit as it was over fifty years earlier, still covered in blood. 

"I hope that's from the fun kind of dream," he said dryly. 

"Not really," Ettie replied, willing herself clean. "What is it?"

Tom grinned. "You're leaving the orphanage."

"What?!" Ettie yelped. "Yes! But how?"

"I convinced Voldemort to turn Pettigrew in and free your dogfather," he said smugly. "You're welcome."

"Thank you!" Ettie threw herself at Tom and glomped him without thinking. Her inhibitions tended to fade in the dreamscape, rational thought far away. 

Except. Tom was sitting down. And now she was on his lap. Hugging him. Ettie quickly pulled away, sliding off Tom's legs. When she looked up he was staring at her with an intense expression that made her shiver. 

"Um," Ettie said. Tom smirked. 

"Goodnight Ettie. Sweet dreams..."

 _Why did he have to say it like that?_ Ettie wailed as she drifted off into a dream that involved much too much kissing and wandering hands.

...

"Hi! Welcome to—BLOODY HELL IT'S SIRIUS BLACK!"

"No, wait! It's okay, I'm innocent—!"

"CALL THE POLICE!"

"No, don't do that—"

"HE'S TRYING TO ATTACK ME!"

"Woman, I am literally just standing here!"

"HELP! HELP!"

"For fuck's sake!"

"I told you so."

"...Shut up Moony."

...

A day later, Sirius' innocence had made its way into muggle news. Ettie had never unpacked her things, and she waited on the edge of her seat for him to show up. She may not have forgiven the man for abandoning her for revenge, but anything was better than this stupid orphanage and the stupid adults and _stupid Karen_.

"Harriet? Your uncle is here to—oh!"

Ettie was already pushing past her, trunk banging noisily down the stairs. She recognized the nervous dark haired man standing in the waiting room instantly, though it had been almost fourteen years since she saw him. Since he bought her a training broom and called her Bambi and let her ride on his back and—

She barrelled into his arms.

...

After the tearful reunion (and after Ettie had shouted at Sirius until she lost her voice) Sirius and Remus took her to her new home. It was dark and depressing and the house elf heads on the walls made her want to stab the perpetrator in the eye.

But they had cleared out a room for her and decorated it in black and violet and even carved her name on a plaque outside the room. There were three locks on the door and blackout curtains that would strangle anyone who tried to climb in through the window. 

"Do you like it?" Sirius asked nervously. 

"I love it," Ettie whispered. He all but melted into a pile of goo. Padfoot made it so hard to resent him sometimes. 

...

Tom was jealous. He would admit it! Ettie was thirteen and she had more followers than he had at sixteen. Of course, she had the advantage of staring out as a celebrity and not a no-name mudblood, but still. Tom didn't want to think of how Voldemort would react when he finally realized that Ettie had gotten the neutral half of Slytherin under her belt, something he had failed to do with their parents. At least she had the sense not to poach the children of Death Eaters.

But anyway, Tom was feeling left out. Voldemort had his Death Eaters, Ettie had her 'people' and even Dumbledore had his Order. It was high past time, Tom decided, to get some followers of his own, as all his previous ones had grown up and joined his older self.

Which led to Tom stalking about Knockturn Alley under Ettie's very useful Invisibility Cloak, looking for anyone with potential. 

...

Living with Sirius Black took some getting used to. Though strangely it didn't have anything to do with the man himself. Sirius was unsettlingly easy to get along with. He was irresponsible and absent-minded and prone to fits of depression, but Ettie was used to all of those things. Maisie may have been an angel on earth, but she had never been the most mature or stable of individuals. She found herself falling back into the habits of reminding him to shower, eat and sleep, and sitting with him when he was depressed, just in case. 

No, what took getting used to was the fact that by moving in with Sirius, she had also moved in with Molly Weasley. 

The Weasleys didn't actually live at Grimmauld Place, but it was the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix and Molly was a member, so apparently she felt she was entitled to stop by any time. And by stop by, Ettie meant barge into their lives and start ordering Sirius around and treating Ettie like the troublemaking delinquent she probably was. 

Ettie tolerated this exactly twice before blowing up.

"And Sirius, good heavens, start on those curtains right away! I can't believe you've let them be this long. Don't just sit there, get on with it!"

Sirius started to stand, though they had been enjoying a perfectly lovely conversation about all the jinxes her dad and Sirius had invented during their school days.

"You're not his mother," she snapped. "Uncle Padfoot, you can sit down if you want to, you're a full grown adult."

Sirius sat back down, blinking. The Weasley Hen rounded on Ettie.

"Young lady, that was incredibly disrespectful!" she huffed. "I may not be his mother, but Sirius needs someone telling him what to do or he'll sit around all day moping!"

"Well that's his prerogative," she retorted loudly. "If he wants to sit around he damn well can! And it's not moping, it's depression, and it's not a choice! And if you want to help him, ordering him around is not the way to do it!"

"Now see here," the Hen began.

"No, _you_ see here," Ettie hissed. "You have no right to interfere in our business. None. So get the hell out!"

The Hen turned to Sirius, furious.

"Sorry Molly, but she's right," he said apologetically. "I appreciate the thought, but bossing me around isn't helping anybody and you're clearly making my goddaughter uncomfortable. I think it's best if you leave."

The Hen left, though not before kicking up a fuss. Ettie studiously ignored her. She began talking to Sirius as if the Hen wasn't even there, and he responded in kind.

"Fine," the Weasley Hen said in a shrill, injured voice. "I can see when I'm not wanted."

And then she was gone. 

"Can she though?" Ettie muttered. "It's not like we told her to her face or anything."

Sirius laughed. "Oh, you've definitely got your sense of humor from your mum. Lily was as sarcastic as anything. James was just goofy."

Ettie ducked her head to hide her smile. She knew she didn't actually inherit anything besides her body from the Potters, but sometimes it was nice to pretend. 

...

Severus was in the middle of getting dressed for bed when his Mark burned like it was fresh and turned as black as the day it was made. He stared at it, horror struck, and then lunged for his closet. He pulled out his Death Eater robes, fixed the mask to his face, and apparated where the Mark led him. 

He hadn't believed the Dark Lord was back, no matter what Albus said, because there was no change to his Dark Mark. But now...

 _What a fool I have been_.

Severus swept through the imposing doors of the unfamiliar Manor and followed the tug in his Mark until he found the Throne Room.

"Severus," the Dark Lord greeted, lounging on his Throne. There was a young man, no more than sixteen, leaning against the wall on his right. Severus knelt. 

"My Lord," he said simply, knowing better than to run his mouth trying to flatter the Dark Lord. Either he was about to die or he wasn't. The Dark Lord let the silence stretch. The boy twirled his wand between his fingers like a muggle drummer. Severus' knees started to ache.

"I'm disappointed, Severus," the Dark Lord said finally. "Quirinus, before his demise, told me of your closeness to the Potter girl. And yet you never attempted to gain vengeance for your Lord."

Severus said nothing, sensing the Dark Lord wasn't done. 

"There is always a risk with double agents, that they will be seduced to the enemy side. After I killed your _love_ , Lily Potter, and was vanquished, you could easily have defected to Dumbledore."

Severus waited, unsure if that was his cue to speak.

"Well?"

"I am loyal to you alone, my Lord. I took Potter under my wing in hopes of turning her to your side. As for Lily...I will admit to some anger initially, but I see now that it was for the best. She never would have accepted me."

"Perhaps," the Dark Lord said dismissively. "I will take the truth of these words from your mind."

He rose from his throne and seized Severus' chin, forcing their eyes to meet. Severus steeled himself, ready for the usual blade of pure force driving its way into his mind. What he got instead was a two-pronged attack, the likes of which should have been impossible to preform. 

One branch of the attack crept into his mind, nudging at his defenses so gently that he could hardly tell where it was. That must have been the boy. The Dark Lord's offensive was razor sharp and singing with power. It was equal parts painful and intoxicating as he roved through the false memories Severus had constructed and distracted from the feather-light prodding of the boy, splitting his attention further and further until the unthinkable happened.

Severus broke.

...

Severus Snape was not loyal to him. Severus Snape was loyal to Lily Potter, and by extension, her daughter. 

Voldemort paced his Throne Room, Severus unconscious at his feet. Tom was sitting on the arm of his Throne, thoughtful. 

"We can use this. If he's loyal to Ettie, and Ettie is loyal to us, then..."

Voldemort sneered, though the same thought had crossed his mind. 

"He may want what's best for the girl, but what if he decides what's best is to remove her from our influence?"

"Point." Tom frowned. "What do you suggest? He's to valuable to dispose of him entirely."

Voldemort stopped pacing and stared down at Severus as an idea bloomed in his mind. 

"We will wipe his memory of this encounter and return him to his home. We will then summon him again, go through the process of determining his loyalty, and let him believe he has kept his secrets."

The boy nodded. "And then?"

"Then we will let him pass what information we desire on to Dumbledore's fools, and use the girl to verify what intelligence he delivers to us," Voldemort said.

"Sneaky. I like it," Tom said. Voldemort gave him an annoyed look.

"You sound like Potter."

Tom just shrugged. Voldemort put the matter from his mind. 

"It is of no matter. I will Obliviate Severus and you will return him to his home and revive him."

"Sir yes sir!"

Voldemort hexed the brat. Tom just laughed.

...

Ettie got her assignment in a dream: eavesdrop on the Order of the Phoenix and report back to Voldemort. It was easier said than done, but Ettie had a secret weapon: Kreacher.

It took very little effort for Ettie to worm her way into the old elf's heart. He may have acted bitter and hard but really he was just lonely. All she had to do was catch him alone, mention that she was a Slytherin and had stayed with Narcissa Malfoy over the summer and then he was at her beck and call. It wasn't the most organic conversation ever, but hey! Whatever works. 

So Ettie got Kreacher to show her a secret passage that went from the library to a hidey-hole just behind the kitchen stove. It was nice and warm, if a little stuffy.

She brought down a few quilts and a small pile of pillows to make herself a nest like the snake she was. Ettie set a dicto-quill to record the content of the meetings and relaxed in her nest, doing homework or reading the Black family books on obscure curses. It was a pretty sweet gig.

...

After a few weeks of eavesdropping, Voldemort asked her to bring him the reports of the Order meetings. Obviously she couldn't send them in a letter, but she didn't get why he couldn't have one of his house elves pop over and get it.

Whatever.

Ettie had Kreacher apparate her to where Tom was waiting to take her back to Slytherin Manor when Padfoot and Moony were out trying to recruit werewolves that Voldemort had already gotten his claws into. 

"Little love," Tom greeted, pulling her into a hug. She half suspected he only did that to see her blush. 

"Does Miss Potter-Black have a beau?" Kreacher croaked suspiciously. Tom noticed him for the first time. 

"Potter-Black?" he asked her, ignoring Kreacher completely.

"Apparently because Sirius is my godfather, that makes me an honorary Black," she said. "And no, Krea, Tommy isn't my boyfriend."

"Of course," the elf said immediately. "Is the not-a-beau a Slytherin? You wouldn't be wanting to disgrace the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black!"

Ettie sighed. 

"I am," Tom answered, actually looking at Kreacher this time. Kreacher nodded in approval.

"You has better being a gentleman to Miss Potter-Black," he said, wagging a finger at Tom. It was comical, watching a three foot house elf threatening the six foot future Dark Lord, but Ettie knew that Kreacher could do some decent damage if he put his mind to it. 

"As long as she desires it," Tom answered with a wicked grin and sideways glance. Ettie slugged him hard in the shoulder and laughed as he stumbled. Her super gloves were a major success.

"Miss Potter-Black is being more than a match for you," Kreacher cackled. "She is a Black, after all!"

And he popped away, still laughing.

"Charming beast," Tom commented. She whacked him again.

"He's not a beast," she snapped. "House elves are more powerful and intelligent than most wizards give them credit for."

"Oh really?" Tom chuckled. Condescending asshole.

"Yes really," she sniffed. "Most wards don't stop them, for one thing. Their method of apparition is the most effective in the entire world. And they're intensely loyal to anyone who treats them well. And any good leader knows a simple but loyal worker is worth ten more powerful, less trustworthy ones."

"I didn't know they could pass through most wards," Tom said thoughtfully. "That could be incredibly useful."

"Told you so," Ettie said vindictively. Tom held out his arm and she took it. In a twist of magic, they were standing outside the gates of Slytherin Manor.

"Maybe I should look into getting a house elf," he mused as they walked. He had 'forgotten' to release her arm. She didn't mention it. 

"You do that."

They chatted idly as they made their way up to Voldemort's actual, literal Throne Room. She noticed several unfamiliar Death Eaters going wide-eyed at the sight of her, a few of them reaching for their wands before their fellows stopped them. 

One particularly bold newbie actually spoke up. 

"Why the fuck is the Girl-Who-Lived waltzing around the Dark Lord's headquarters with his bloody son?"

Rodolphus Lestrange hexed the newbie. 

"The Dark Lord's business is his own."

"But that's his worst enemy!" she protested.

Ettie snorted loudly. "Wow, you are new. Voldemort's greatest enemy is _really_ not a thirteen year old girl."

Several newbies gasped. Ettie wondered why there were so many of them. Was there a meeting today or something?

"Don't you say his name!" the newbie shrieked, her voice going up an octave. 

_Humperdinck!_ her mind inserted _. Humperdinck Humperdinck Humperdinck!_

"I'll say it if I want to. He doesn't mind."

Some moron tried to curse her. Ettie dodged and Tom retaliated so quickly all she saw was a blur of green. The idiot fell like a puppet with cut strings. Ettie blinked at Tom in shock.

"That curse was fatal—he tried to kill you," Tom said through gritted teeth. "Anyone who does that deserves to die."

Ettie shouldn't have been touched. But since when had that stopped her? She accepted the warm fluffy feeling in her stomach with resignation.

"What is going on here," Voldemort's distinctive voice demanded.

Tom and Ettie didn't jump, but to everyone else it must have been as though he appeared out of thin air. 

"The Potter girl is here, my Lord!" the newbie said quickly. Voldemort treated her to a disdainful stare that made her fall into a low bow.

"I am aware," he said coldly. "Boy. Why is Warrington dead?"

"He tried to kill Ettie," Tom said. "So I took care of it."

Voldemort gazed across the assembled Death Eaters. His long white fingers played very noticably with his wand.

"Harriet Potter is mine," he hissed. "Anyone that harms her will face my wrath. I trust that my chosen will not be so very foolish."

"Yes milord."

"Yes Master."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Good. Come, boy, girl." He gave his followers one last glare before sweeping away, Tom and Ettie in his wake. When they reached the Throne Room, Ettie pulled the fat bundle of Order reports from the inner pocket of her robes. 

"Here you are."

He waved his wand and they vanished from her grip.

"You may go."

She huffed. "Wow, you're welcome. It's not like it was an imposition or anything—ow! Way to repay a servi—OW!"

Ettie stumbled backwards under the force of the hex. Tom caught her before she could fall. 

"We'll be going now," he said smoothly, all but carrying her out of the room. 

~Who put a bee in his bonnet?~" Ettie mumbled. Tom flicked her ear.

~It's not generally advisable to antagonize a Dark Lord,~ he said. 

~You do it all the time!~

~He takes it from me because technically, I am him. You're only part of him. Or rather, he has a part of himself in you.~

Ettie scowled and flipped off the newbie from earlier.

~Whatever. Dark Lord or not, he doesn't have to be such a dick,~ she said. 

~Some would say it's in the job description,~ Tom said as they exited the Manor. 

~Well, when you become a Dark Lord, promise you won't hex me for sassing you, okay?~

Tom was silent. When Ettie glanced at him he was chewing his lip. 

"What's up?" she asked, bumping his arm with her shoulder.

"I...am not entirely sure I would like to become a Dark Lord anymore," he said quietly. 

"Oh. Cool. What do you want to be, then?"

"A teacher," he answered after a long pause. "Or a politician."

"I'd go with teacher," she said. "You hate dealing with idiots, and politics is full of them."

"I love idiots," Tom denied. "They're so easy to play with."

"Which is why you get bored," Ettie said. 

"Eh, fair enough. It's a long ways away in any case. What do you plan to be?"

Ettie stopped walking. "I...have no idea," she said truthfully. "Maybe a spell inventor? I want to be creating my own curses within the next year."

"You'd get bored with that." Tom shook his head. "You have more Gryffindor in you than you would like to admit. I would suggest something exciting but flexible. Perhaps a Curse Breaker or a professional Duelist."

"Dueling for a living sounds fun," Ettie admitted. "I'd get to actually use all my own spells in combat."

"Yes. Hopefully Voldemort lets us have our own careers."

Ettie frowned. "Why wouldn't he?"

Tom looked at her like she was daft. "We will be expected to take part in his own conquests, and will likely manage our own divisions of Death Eaters."

"Seriously? I'm going to be fourteen in two weeks," Ettie said incredulously. "And it's already hard enough managing my own people. How am I going to deal with his too?"

"Just have your people take the Dark Mark," Tom suggested. 

"Um, no. They already took _my_ Mark—"

"They _what?_ " 

Tom seized Ettie and apparated. They reappeared in the middle of a forest next to a lake.

"What the hell?!"

"What do you mean you followers took your Mark?" he demanded. 

"It means what it sounds like," she snapped. "I Marked them because they asked me to!"

Tom ran his hands through his hair. "Oh, this is not good."

"Why not?" Ettie asked, apprehension begining to arise. Tom let out a hysterical laugh.

"Oh, Ettie. You've just set yourself up as Lord Voldemort's rival. You _idiot_."

"I what?" Ettie squeaked. "No, no I didn't! I'm not suicidal!"

Tom sank down against a tree trunk and rubbed his eyes. "Covens by their very nature are at odds with other covens. When there's a dozen of them near each other it's not a big deal. But the Death Eaters are the only other coven across all of Great Britain _and_ Europe; the very _existence_ of yours is a challenge."

"...Fuck." 

Ettie collapsed next to Tom, her legs shaking too badly to support her weight. 

"What am I supposed to do?" she whispered. 

"Contact your people and tell them not to blab or else," Tom said immediately. "Don't let anyone else know. Wipe their memories if you have to."

"Okay," Ettie said. "Okay. Hold on."

She closed her eyes and concentrated on the web of Marks she could feel at any given time. She concentrated on making the Marks pulse in the sign for 'pay attention' and gave a few seconds for them to get ready. Then she began began relaying the message using Morse Code. 

"Done." Ettie opened her eyes to find Tom staring at her. "What?"

"You can speak to your followers through the Marks?" he said, mouth agape. "How does the mental strain not turn you into a vegetable?"

"I use Morse Code," Ettie explained. "I gave them enchanted notebooks to carry with them at all times and when they get the message they'll write it down and translate it, then rip out and burn that page."

"That's genius," Tom said, looking at her with new respect. "Voldemort never even thought of that."

"That's because he thinks everything muggle is worthless," she said. 

"I will have to keep that in mind." Tom stood up and offered her a hand. Ettie took it. "In the meantime, try not to make any other potentially fatal decisions, okay?"

"Right," Ettie said, still shaking slightly. That was a promise she could definitely keep.

...

Albus had a decision to make: should he tell the world that Voldemort was back or should he keep his silence? Both had their advantages. 

If he revealed Voldemort's return then he could no longer operate in the shadows, unnoticed and therefore almost entirely unopposed. But if he stayed quiet then Albus could potentially gain the element of surprise when Voldemort inevitably attacked. He would expect an ignorant enemy, after all, not a prepared one. 

Or...Albus stroked his beard. Or he could combine the two and have the best of each plan. Tell key officials of the return of the Dark Lord, setting the government on their guard, but keep Voldemort ignorant to the fact that they were preparing for him. 

_Yes_ , Albus thought. _That could very well work_. 

...

Ettie's (second) fourteenth birthday was by far the best she had ever had. And that was saying something, considering she lived in constant fear of Voldemort finding out she had started a coven and killing all her people and putting her in a death coma for the rest of eternity and—

Anyway, it was a great party. Her whole Inner Circle was invited and Sirius and Remus were there and even though Snape didn't come, he did send her a gift. A real one! For _her_. It was awesome. 

The whole affair took place at the ice cream parlor, because Ettie had always wanted to have a birthday party at one Before, and had only ever gotten Maisie and her begging free samples and hiding in the corner booth. 

"I would've though you'd choose someplace more sophisticated," Blaise commented as he bit into his triple chocolate cone like a heathen. 

"Oh, Ettie's not all that sophisticated, really," Luna said through a mouthful of banana and dirigible plum sundae. "She runs on nostalgia and wishful thinking sometimes."

"That's ridiculous," Tracey interjected. "Boss Lady is the most sophisticated witch I've met!"

"Thanks Trace, but you know that's not true," Ettie said. 

"She is right," said Nwaike, who never went by his first name in order to honor his dead family. Marcus grunted in agreement, more concerned with his ice cream. Adrian and Millicent were too busy debating whose Quidditch Team was the best and Henrik was trying to network with Sirius. Cecilia was pestering Remus about cool curses he knew. 

"Okay kids, time for presents!" Padfoot cried with a hint of desperation.

"Yay!" Ettie said quietly, involuntarily. Unfortunately, Blaise heard. He burst into laughter and slung an arm around her shoulder.

"Aww," he cooed, "they're right. I don't know how I ever thought you were sophisticated!"

"Wanna fight?" Ettie asked sweetly. Blaise retracted his arm and his statement immediately.

"That's what I thought," she hummed, satisfied. 

"Here ya go, Bambi," Sirius said, handing her his present. 

Ettie took it, admiring the surprisingly neat black and silver wrapping. She hesitated. Should she rip it open or save the paper? She'd never really unwrapped presents before. She and Maisie had swaddled their's in old newspapers. 

"Go on, open it!"

Ettie gave Sirius a dirty look and began opening it as slowly and carefully as she could. He lasted about a minute before he just spelled it off and into a neat pile.

"Evans women and their obsession with wrapping paper," he grumbled as he did. Ettie smiled as she opened the box. Inside was a pocket knife that Sirius excitedly explained could pick any lock, cut any rope or chain, and always stayed sharp.

"Thank you," Ettie said, giving him a tentative hug. He folded her tightly into his arms and it immediately became less awkward. 

"Anytime, Bambi."

Blaise shoved his at her next. Ettie saved its paper too, and opened it to find—

" _Merlin's balls!_ " Ettie shrieked, all but tackling him in a hug. "How the hell did you get this?!"

Blaise laughed, squeezing her tightly. "One of mama's husband's was an Egyptian scholar of some renown. He had quite the collection."

Blaise had gotten her a copy of _the first spellbook ever written_. Like, what? 

"Way to go, Blaise," Adrian scoffed. "Now all of our presents will look subpar in comparison."

"Possibly," Ettie admitted easily, still holding to the book to her chest. "But I'll love them anyway."

"Me next!" Luna chirped. She handed her a tiny package. Ettie opened it to find a flat rock that shimmered in the sunlight coming through the window.

"It helps focus your energy on the when you want to be," Luna said helpfully. Ettie pocketed it and gave her a tight hug.

"Thanks Lu."

Tracey got her an aquarium for Ebony with the mother of all expansion charms on it. Ettie didn't tell her that snakes generally liked to stick to smaller territories and gave her a hug that almost made her pass out. 

Adrian gave her tickets to the Top Box of the World Cup and a full set of Quidditch balls. Their hug was a little uncomfortable, but he seemed to appreciate it greatly and couldn't stop smiling for the rest of the day. 

Remus' present was a leather wand holster that could go on her forearm, ankle, thigh or hip. She was a little worried about how much it must have cost but loved it nontheless. 

From Nwaike she got the book that he used to complete his animagus transformation. 

"I translated it myself," he said shyly. Ettie was so touched that she gave him a kiss on the cheek, which he returned. 

Millicent proudly presented her with an heirloom knife enchanted to always strike true. Ettie felt bad about taking a family heirloom but Millie seemed so happy to give it to her that she didn't say anything. 

Cecilia gave her a makeup kit that would turn any color she wanted and diamond-dust clear nail polish "so she didn't have to worry about her claws chipping if she gouged someone's eyes out". It was adorably bloodthirsty.

Henrik solemnly presented her with a set of the most badass dueling robes she had ever seen. They were black dragon leather with green accents, and came with gloves and boots enchanted to never lose their grip. 

Marcus was self-conscious about his gift, Ettie could tell. His family was far from well-off and he seemed embarrassed to be the only one giving her something handmade. But Ettie might have liked his best of all. It was a portrait of a session in the Chamber of Secrets, all nine of them goofing around and laughing. 

"I love it," she said firmly. "It's beautiful. Why didn't you tell me you were an artist?"

Marcus muttered something about it not mattering and abruptly shut up when Ettie slid under his arm and wrapped her arms around his middle. He carefully embraced her back.

"Alright," Sirius said loudly. "That's enough of boys hugging my goddaughter!"

Ettie hugged Marcus harder for that.

The party continued after their time slot at Fortesque's ended, though most of her people had to go. It was just her, Blaise, Luna, Marcus, Cecilia and Millicent. And Moony and Padfoot, of course. They wandered down the web of Alleys, window shopping and occasionally splurging if they came across something worth it. Ettie bought a black velvet hair ribbon that would lash out at anyone who tried to touch her hair without permission. 

Ettie was just turning away from the counter when a shadow in the corner of her eye made her spine around. Was that...?

"Blaise, distract the grown ups for me," she murmured in her second's ear. He immediately knocked over a bottle of something explosive and glittery, which poofed right in Sirius' face. Ettie ducked away and ran around the corner, heart beating just a little faster in excitement. 

"Hey little lo—ah!"

"You came!"

Tom's arms closed around her and Ettie pressed her face into his chest to hide her stupid beaming smile. 

"Yes, I came."

Ettie pulled back and got a proper look at him. Tom was in disguise. The only outward things he changed were his hair and clothes and he still looked like a completely different person. Something about the lazy, harmless way he held himself. 

"You look good as a redhead," she said, reaching up on her tiptoes to touch the deep auburn waves. 

"It's Ginny-inspired," he answered with a smirk, leading her through several twists and turns until they arrived in a shadowed nook between two buildings, too small to be called an alley but deep enough that they weren't immediately visible.

"Ah."

Tom reached into the pocket of his baggy muggle shorts, which she knew he wore only because everyone who knew him would say he'd rather die than be seen in them. 

"Happy Birthday, Ettie."

She took the small box and shook it next to her ear, making Tom snort. "Bought or Transfigured?"

"Both. Be as flattered as you like."

She laughed and opened it. Two things fell into her palm—a perfectly round metal sphere, maybe the size of a gumball, and an empty picture frame.

Ettie blinked.

"I'm sure these are spectacular gifts, but I'm going to need you to explain them for me."

It was Tom's turn to snicker. "The metal one is a Privacy Ball. Tap it with your wand to activate it and then have everyone you want to talk to without being overheard put a drop of blood on it. Tap it again and violá. As long as you have it on your person no outsider will be able to make sense of what any of you say."

"That's perfect," Ettie breathed. "Thank you."

"With everything, I thought it wise," he agreed. 

"What about the other one?" she asked. Tom grinned.

"Ah, yes. The Privacy Ball may be the more useful of the two, but I think you'll find the frame much dearer to your heart. I invented it, you know."

"I love it already," Ettie deadpanned. 

"Hush, you. You'll regret the sarcasm once I tell you what it does."

"By all means." Ettie accepted the flick on the ear as just deserts for her attitude towards the boy who just got her two birthday presents, one of which he invented himself. 

"The frame," Tom said grandly, lips twitching, "works as a modified pensive. Place your hand on it and think of a memory. The frame will make a copy of it and play it out."

Ettie pressed a hand to her mouth, stunned.

"You can put multiple memories in it at a time," Tom continued, oblivious, "and the frame will have them on a loop—oof!"

Ettie sobbed as she clutched him, feeling like a stiff wind could blow her all away. Tom barely had time to hug her back before Ettie was pulling away. She dumped the Privacy Ball in his hand and pressed hers to the glass of the frame.

Color bloomed beneath her fingertips.

Ettie _keened_.

Short dark curls, wide doe eyes, a scattering of freckles. A crooked little nose with a scar, and a pointed chin. And a smile, wide and gap-toothed and _so damn perfect—!_

Tom caught her before her knees could buckle. Maisie beamed back up at her, naked love and adoration in her eyes. She slowly sank to the ground, clutching the frame and sobbing. Tom knelt with her and held Ettie as she fell apart.

...

"Harry! Where have you been?" Sirius cried. Ettie shrugged as nonchalantly as she could manage. 

"I left to get away from the glitter and saw a traveling shop. It had some interesting things so I went in before it Portkeyed to Japan or something."

She held up the Privacy Ball and frame as proof. Sirius swept her into an embrace. 

"You scared us, Bambi. Try not to disappear again, okay?" Remus said. 

"No promises," Ettie said, smirking. Sirius laughed. 

"I suppose I should have expected that."

"I'm glad you're safe, Ettie," Blaise said with a wink.

"Thank you, Blaise." She winked herself when the adults weren't looking. Sirius and Remus were very confused when they both burst into laughter. 

...

Tom spent every night for a month in Knockturn Alley before he had selected his candidates. The highlights included the son of the Alley's most lucrative information broker, an ex-Auror fired for being a werewolf, an ambitious young prostitute, and Lucius Malfoy's former house elf.

Yes. Merlin help him, but Tom was planning on recruiting a disgraced, dead-beat house elf. Ettie had shown him just how useful the little creatures could be and nobody would expect it in the least. There was more cause than ever to have the element of surprise. This house elf in particular would bring that and more. 

Tom found Dobby on the corner of Knockturn where he always was, holding a sign that read 'house elf for hire—only a sickle a day'. 

"Hello there," Tom said softly. "You look like you're in desperate need of a hot meal."

Dobby looked up suspiciously. One of his eyes was swollen and his pointy nose had obviously been broken recently. He was shivering despite the mild summer heat.

"Dobby will not be your slave for food," the elf said stubbornly. 

"Dobby won't have to be," Tom said, flipping the elf a galleon. He dropped the sign and scrambled to catch it. 

"This is being real," he said in awe. Dobby looked up at Tom with watery eyes. "Is you—is yous wanting to hire Dobby?"

"Yes," Tom said. "I'll pay you a galleon a week if you accept."

"What kind of work is it being?" Dobby asked, more savvy than any house elf had a right to be. 

"Let me buy you something to eat and I'll tell you."

Ten minutes later, Dobby and Tom were sitting in a private room in the _Spider's Web_ bar, a sandwich and bowl of soup in front of the starving elf. Tom waited semi-patiently as he ate. When the elf was finished, Tom leaned forward and began to talk.

"My name is Tom Riddle," he said. "And I am in need of a discrete agent to gather information."

"Yous is wanting a spy," Dobby accused, standing up and pointing. 

"Yes," Tom admitted easily. "But please, hear me out."

Dobby slowly sat down. 

"Thank you. Now, I am aware you were previously owned by Lucius Malfoy and that you were freed because you were caught attempting to tamper with a certain diary."

"...Yes," Dobby said, squinting, "but how is yous knowing this?" 

"I'm getting there. I know that your former Master was in the service of the Dark Lord, and that you opposed his insane ideology. But unlike most people who feel the same...you actually did something about it. You, a simple house elf, attempted to destroy an object dear to the Dark Lord."

And oh how it rankled, knowing such a lowly creature attempted to end his existence. But Tom found himself startlingly bare of anger towards Dobby. 

"Yous cannot be proving anything."

"No," Tom said. "I'm not trying to. All I want to know is how you got away with it."

Dobby shifted in his seat and wiped his ugly little nose. "Obviously Dobby is not getting away with it. Dobby is homeless and broke."

Tom set aside the oddity of a broke house elf. "But you're not dead. That in itself is a victory. So. What do you have on Lucius Malfoy that would stop him from killing a traitorous house elf or alerting his Lord to the attempted destruction of the diary?"

"Dobby should not be telling. How does Dobby know yous is not working for the Dark Lordy?"

"I'm not working for the Dark Lord," Tom said, a simultaneous truth and bald faced lie. "I'm going to defeat him."

And there was a total lie. He wasn't aiming to defeat Voldemort, unless depriving him of the chance to lock away Ettie or himself counted as a defeat. 

"Yous is trying to beat the Dark Lordy?" Dobby's eyes were wide. "But yous is just a boy!"

"And you're just an elf," Tom retorted as if offended. "We all do what we can."

Dobby nodded solemnly, ears flapping. 

"Dobby will help the young sir!"

"Thank you, Dobby. So tell me, how did escape Lucius Malfoy?"

...

Tom left the bar with a new ally and a new sense of respect for the wiliness of elves. Dobby had discovered that Lucius was not as faithful to his wife as she was to him. He kept the secret up until he overheard Voldemort and Lucius plotting to use his diary to kill Ettie. He tried to destroy the horcrux, but not before setting up a letter telling Narcissa of her husband's affair, enchanted to be sent upon Dobby's death.

When he was caught, he told his Master this. Lucius couldn't kill him and so he freed him, but kept him from contacting the authorities by threatening the life of Pippy, Dobby's sister. Hence why Dobby was squatting in Knockturn Alley instead of going straight to Dumbledore. 

"Promise yous won't be telling about it?" Dobby had asked anxiously. 

"I promise," said Tom kindly, who planned on keeping the whole arrangement a complete secret regardless of the elf's wishes. 

Now Tom was ready to move on to the next candidate on his list...

...

Ettie was jolted put of her sleepy stupor when the Order erupted in shouting. 

"But the children!"

"How could this happen?"

"We faked their deaths fifteen years ago! How did he find out?!"

"Quiet, please," Dumbledore said firmly. "Marlene and her children will be fine. The Crimson Safehouse was discovered in the last war; Voldemort would never think to look under it."

"I hope so," the Hen fretted. "The twins only just turned six last month! And Michael is so looking forward to starting Hogwarts."

The conversation moved on from there, leaving Ettie staring down at the parchment where every word had been recorded in neat cursive. 

Now, Ettie knew that the information she passed to Voldemort could get people killed. She had closed her ears and kept her nose in her book, as if not knowing the details would rid her of the blame. But this time she had heard. She could no longer pretend she wasn't culpable. 

If that report got to Voldemort, Ettie would be a murderer of children. The kind of monster she spent two lives in fear of. And that was just so not going to happen. 

She had some editing to do.

...

"My Lord, the McKinnons are hidden under the Order's Crimson Safehouse."

"Well done, Severus."

...

Ettie didn't struggle to keep a straight face as she handed Voldemort the doctored report, but that was only because she had spent two lifetimes practicing. Voldemort accepted the bundle without looking at her, and waved a hand in dismissal. 

This time, she left without comment. 

...

Voldemort paused as he flipped through the girl's report. Severus said Dumbledore's idiots spoke of the McKinnons just after they finished discussing how they would proceed with recruiting the giants. Ettie's report did not reflect this. 

He let out a low hiss. Either Severus had lied...or the girl had betrayed him. 

...

Tom was not looking forward to tonight's mission. The McKinnons may have insulted Voldemort when they escaped him, but the younger three had no blame for that. To kill them was not only a travesty but a senseless waste of magical blood, something Voldemort purported to be against. 

He had resolved, that should he have the opportunity, Tom would help the children get to safety. 

"Go," Voldemort commanded. It was the activation phrase and all their Portkeys took hold simultaneously. They landed silently in a circle around the Crimson Safehouse. The ward makers were already setting up anti-apparition and Portkey barriers. Now anyone could get in and nobody could get out. 

"Begin."

Tom cast his strongest blasting curse at the ground beneath the ruins of the safehouse. Death Eaters did the same in all directions. A large section of earth caved in and the sound of a woman screaming reached Tom's ears. 

Marlene McKinnon hurtled out of the pit with tears streaking down her face and hate burning in her eyes. 

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" she howled. A jet of green light shot towards Voldemort, who raised a piece of rubble to block it and disarmed her with a wave of his hand. 

"Hello Marly," Voldemort said coldly. "It has been some time. I take from your reaction that your halfbreed brats are dead?"

"MONSTER! Go die in hell, you fucking—AAAARGH!"

Voldemort lifted the Cruciatus just long enough for her to catch her breath and then cast it again. Tom found himself irritated.

Why did everything Voldemort did have to be about inflicting pain? Tom would admit pain was a useful tool, but what was the point of hurting your enemies before you killed them? Not only did it give them longer to potentially act against you, but it was completely unnecessary. Death was the ultimate torture, after all. 

~Dumbledore's pests will be here soon,~ Tom reminded Voldemort. 

~Too true. But first...~ He switched to English. "Tom, the honor of punishing her falls to you. Do hurry; Dumbledore's pests will arrive soon."

Great.

Tom pointed his wand at the trembling wreck of a witch, who still had enough energy to spit at him. 

"Accio fingernails," he said shortly. She shrieked. "Incarcerous."

Ropes shot from his wand to wrap around her and he willed them tighter and tighter, ignoring the twisting sensation in his stomach. The blood vessels in her eyes popped, her face began to turn purple, and dark bruises spread across her skin.

"Do you want her dead?" Tom said as boredly as he could muster. Voldemort studied him for a time but eventually seemed satisfied. 

"Not yet."

Tom released McKinnon. Voldemort nodded to the ward makers, who tore down the barriers with a massive bang. Bellatrix grabbed McKinnon and they Portkeyed back to Slytherin Manor. 

"You are dismissed," Voldemort said immediately. "Bella, take the prisoner to the dungeons. Boy, with me."

Tom followed Voldemort to the Throne Room. 

"Potter betrayed us," he said abruptly. Tom blinked.

Fuck. 

"Surely she's not that stupid," Tom scoffed. "Ettie is many things, but suicidal is not among them."

"This is what I believed as well. But she has... disappointed me."

"How so?"

"She deliberately withheld information concerning the McKinnons from me."

Voldemort kept talking but all Tom could hear was the rush of relief in his ears. Voldemort hadn't found out about the coven. Thank Merlin, Morgana and Mordred above. 

"—you will bring her to me at once," he finished. Tom nodded, reality crashing back down on him.

"Of course."

He turned and strode from the Throne Room and waited until he was safely in his heavy warded room to cuss loudly and kick his desk. 

...

Ettie woke up to a overpowering sense of doom. She bolted upright, knowing only two things. One: Voldemort knew she had tried to save the McKinnons. Two: Tom was waiting for her and she had to be there _now_.

Ettie pulled on her Cloak over her pajamas and ghosted down the stairs and through the window that only existed on the inside. Once outside she broke into a run, wishing she knew how to apparate.

"Tom," she whispered. He whipped around. 

"Ettie? But I barely sent the owl! How the blazes did you—"

"Seer," she reminded Tom. She grabbed his arm. "I know he knows. The sooner we get there the better."

Tom apparated without a word. Minutes later they stood before the doors to the Throne Room. Ettie's heart began to beat faster and bile crawled up the back of her throat. She took a deep breath and threw the doors open, walking in like she owned the place—

—which in hindsight was not the greatest decision when Voldemort was already mad at her. She screamed and writhed for a short eternity before he lifted the Cruciatus. 

"You betrayed me," Voldemort said calmly. Ettie could feel his seething rage like a storm building despite his relaxed posture and even voice. "You deliberately withheld information you knew I wanted."

"Yes," Ettie coughed, spitting out blood from where she had screamed her throat raw. 

" _Why_."

"I wanted to save the children," Ettie said honestly. Lying would not help her now. 

"You betrayed your own soul," Voldemort said softly, "for the sake of dirty-blooded, halfbred filth?"

She stayed silent. Voldemort let out a snarl of fury and slashed his hand through the air. Ettie was swatted across the room like a fly. She slid down the far wall in a heap.

"My own soul," Voldemort whispered, nostrils flaring as he breathed heavily. "But then, you are not all my soul. Tom remains loyal. It must be the Potter in you...yes. Well, it won't be a problem any longer."

Ettie shuddered. She tried to speak but all that came out was a weak rasp. She switched to Parseltongue.

~Please, I won't do it again, I swear,~ she begged. 

~I'm afraid I can no longer trust your word,~ Voldemort sneered. He flicked his wand and Ettie could no longer speak.

~People will get suspicious,~ Tom said, ~if the Girl-Who-Lived vanishes under mysterious circumstances. Dumbledore will capitalize on that to gain—~

~We will stage her disappearemce as a tragic but mundane death,~ Voldemort dismissed. Ettie began to float away in her head, back to the comfortable, awful numbness she spent so much time in. 

~And what of her followers in Slytherin? They will be lost to our cause.~

Voldemort scoffed. ~Whatever paltry few she managed to gain will be no great loss.~

Tom stepped into Ettie's line of vision. ~Actually, she has the Heirs of Pucey and Fawcett, the cousin of the Reigning Princess of Magical Sweden, the Zabini Heir, and most of the other Neutraals.~

Ettie had the dubious pleasure of watching Voldemort's red eyes go wide with shock. 

"How the hell did she manage that?" he said, speech patterns reverting to something almost normal in his surprise. 

"Power and sheer force of personality," Tom answered. "And a very noticeable lack of political leanings, though the rest of Hogwarts didn't seem to get the memo." 

Voldemort looked more pissed, not less, and not any more inclined to let her go. 

"If she vanishes, their support will too. And I for one think a dozen of the most powerful future Neutrals in Britain are worth a mildly disobedient horcrux."

"Get her out of my sight," Voldemort spat eventually. "And if she betrays me again it will be on your head!"

Tom scooped Ettie off the ground, bowed lowly, and strode quickly out of the room.

...

Tom felt as though he had just fought in a duel. In a way he supposed he had. Tom strode through the halls as briskly as he could without looking like he was running. Most of the Death Eaters here were the original ones, not the new recruits. They knew better than to stare and whisper, for which Tom was thankful. If he got so much as a side eye right then, he would curse said eyes out. 

At last he made it to his room. He laid Ettie out on the bed, removed the silencing charm, and began tending to her injuries. Worryingly, she made no more noise without the silencing charm. She just laid there and stared vacantly at the ceiling. 

"Can you hear me?" he checked. She just blinked heavily. Tom thought she was probably dissociative. But sadly, they didn't have time for her to come out of it on her own. She needed to get back to her godfather before he woke up and found her missing. 

"Affectus deducere tergum," he murmured, the only spell that could help him when he dissociated. Ettie shuddered and began to cry.

"You're alright," Tom said, putting his hands on her shoulders. "You're just fine."

Ettie curled into his touch and Tom sat down next to her, pulling her small, shaking form into his arms. She pressed her face into his shoulder and wrapped her arms and legs around his torso.

Merlin, she was so _tiny_. Tom felt a stab of rage directed at Voldemort for doing this to her. Ettie was part of their soul! That, if nothing else, should have been enough to keep her safe!

"I'm being stupid," Ettie muttered into his shirt. "He—he barely hurt me. I'm _fine_."

"The Cruciatus is enough to traumatize anyone, love," he said. "Torture is torture, whether or not it leaves a mark."

"I don't want to do this anymore," she whispered. "I'm so tired."

Tom closed his eyes. How was it that such a simple statement sent stabs of pain through his chest? He'd gotten attached. _Stupid_. Sentiment made you weak! But it felt so good, to care and be cared for. And perhaps he too could turn the weakness I to a strength. 

"I know, love," he whispered back. "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault."

"Yes it is," Tom said bitterly. "I'm the one who brought you here in the first place. I should have..."

"You should have killed me," Ettie said, pulling back to look him in the face. "But you didn't. You saved me."

"If you weren't a horcrux, I would have," Tom said, hating the way the very thought made him ache. "I would have done it."

"Maybe, maybe not. But you didn't have to help me with the Philosopher's Stone. You keep trying to make yourself out to be this...monster, but you're not."

"I'm not a good person," he scoffed.

"Neither am I. We're just human, Tom," she said earnestly. 

Tom looked away. Her green eyes unsettled him. Not the color or split pupils, but the empathy and understanding and...affection. 

"How are you the one comforting me right now?" he deflected. 

"Cuz you need it. And, well, I welcome the distraction."

Tom laughed. "So honest."

"Not really. You just seem to bring it out in me," she admitted. 

"Me too."

They shared a smile. And suddenly Tom realized exactly what position they were in. Ettie was sat on his lap, legs slung over his hips, his hands on her waist. She smelled sharp and sweet. Like citrus or something similar. He had never noticed before. 

"I'm going to kiss you now," Ettie murmured.

Tom hadn't even realized he was leaning in until their lips collided. This kiss wasn't as soft as their first one, fueled more by desperation, fear, frustration. Tom poured every emotion he had into the kiss, the good and the bad, and found himself biting at her lips. He started to pull back, afraid he had overstepped. 

But Ettie only made an obscene noise and bit him back. It stung, but the pain added an edge to the pleasure. The faint taste of blood joined the citrus of Ettie's mouth.

Tom pulled Ettie closer to him until their bodies were flush. Ettie was breathing heavily, making occasional noises, and Tom found that he wasn't much better. He never wanted this to end. Which was probably a sign that it should.

He broke away.

"We should stop," he said, only to gasp as Ettie pressed her lips underneath his jaw instead. She kissed her way down his neck.

"Shit," Tom hissed, hands clenching on her waist. "Ettie—"

"Shut up and kiss me," she said. And Tom wanted to comply, really he did. But the sun was well past risen on the other side of the curtains and Ettie had to get back home before Black got suspicious.

"Shut up and listen," he returned. She scowled and bit his neck. Chills ran down Tom's spine and even more heat began to pool in his stomach. "Potter, I'm serious."

"So am I." 

She went to bite him again, but if that happened Tom's resolve would crumble, so he stood abruptly and set her down on the floor.

Ettie growled at him, though it sounded more like a whine if he was being honest. 

"You have to go home," he said as firmly as he could. "Your godfather is probably already suspicious."

"I don't care," she retorted, reaching up to grab the front of his shirt. Tom caught her wrists. 

"Ettie," he said more gently, "you can't hide here forever."

"I'm not hiding," she snapped, trying to pull out of his grip. 

"I think you are. You're running from your negative emotions, trying to bury all the bad things in physical pleasure. You have to stop."

"You're not my shrink!" Ettie yelled, kicking him in the shins. Tears glistened in her eyes. Tom reeled her in and embraced her tightly. Ettie struggled for several moments before slumping. Her hands tangled in the back of his robes and her shoulders shook as she cried silently. 

"Feel better?" Tom asked once she pulled away. 

"...Yeah."

"Ready to go?" Tom checked the time. It was almost nine o'clock. 

"Yeah," she said reluctantly. "Yeah, I guess."

"Let's go then."

Tom and Ettie straightened themselves out and walked through the Manor in silence. Tom had to tamp down the ridiculous urge to take her hand. 

He apparated them back to the park next to the Order's Headquarters. He took one last long look at Ettie. Chances were he wouldn't see her in person for a long while. She peered back up at him, her wild curls falling clear to her waist. Her skin was pale and delicate, with the faint blue of her veins visible in the early light. Her eyes all but glowed. She was barefoot in her pajamas with bloodshot eyes and swollen lips and he had never seen anything more beautiful. 

"Goodbye Ettie," he said. 

"Bye Tom," she replied in a voice as high and clear as ringing bells. 

Tom apparated away before he could do something stupid like kiss her again. 

...

Ettie only managed to sneak in that morning because Sirius slept late. She got dressed, washed and face and brushed her teeth, and went down to the breakfast Kreacher made.

"Harry, I need to talk to you." Ettie froze. Her mind processed two thing. Sirius was not asleep. And Sirius sounded serious. That never happened. 

"Sure," she said casually, turning around. "What's up?"

"I have something to ask you and I need you to answer me honestly, okay? I promise I won't be mad."

Oh shit. Oh _shit_.

"Okay," she said, failing to keep the unease out of her voice. Padfoot leaned forward and took her hands in his.

"Bambi...do you have a boyfriend?"

Her mind raced. 

"N-no I don't," she blurted out. Sirius smiled slightly. 

"Teenagers, Slytherins or not, are never as sneaky as they think they are. Remus saw you tell Zabini to create a distraction in Diagon Alley."

"So? Maybe I wanted to do something else," Ettie said. 

"Nah, kiddo. You came back with the same look James had after going on a date with Lily," Sirius said knowingly.

"I did not!"

"You really did," he assured her. "And then Molly said you left when Moony and I were negotiating with the werewolves."

"And you believed her?" Ettie scoffed. "You know she hates me."

"Molly doesn't hate you, Bambi. And in any case, I caught you sneaking in just now, didn't I?"

Ettie closed her eyes. "You're not mad?"

Sirius pulled her into a hug. "Oh Harry, of course not! You're allowed to have a boyfriend or girlfriend. I'm just, well, a little bit concerned. You've been jumpier than usual lately and I wondered if it had anything to do with your boyfriend. Are you okay? He's not hurting yo—"

Ettie laughed. She couldn't help it. Tom hurt her all the time when they dueled, but he didn't do it in anger or to punish her. Not since they were still enemies and strangers. 

"Is that a 'no, he would never hurt me' laugh or a 'no, he hurts me all the time' laugh?" Sirius asked nervously. 

"He only hurts me when we're dueling," Ettie said honestly. "And even then, it's never that bad."

That part was a lie. But he did heal her up after.

"Do you duel for fun or when you're fighting?"

"For fun. Tommy's a brilliant Duelist."

Sirius perked up. "Oh ho ho, we have a name! Is this Tommy a pretty boy? It sounds like a pretty boy name."

Ettie managed a smirk. "Like you wouldn't believe."

"So when do we get to meet him?" Sirius asked. He held up a hand before she could protest. "No buts on this one, kiddo. I'm putting my adult foot down. You can date Tommy all you want, but I want to get to know him too."

"Just call him Tom, Padfoot," Ettie said, wrinkling her nose. It sounded wrong to hear Tom called that by Sirius. 

"Okay, sure," he said agreeably. "As long as you bring him over within the next week."

And with that, Sirius went whistling down the stairs to breakfast. 

... 

"Boy...the TriWizard Tournament is being held at Hogwarts this year."

"So?"

"So, I'm having you enroll in Beauxbatons. It's the perfect opportunity to gather support among international Heirs and keep an eye on the girl."

"Do I get a choice in this?"

"No."

"Figures. Okay, fine. What's my backstory?"

...

"—so now I'm legally Thomas Baudelaire, a Pureblooded orphan. My parents were Francis and Henry Baudelaire, you know, the Potions researchers? Voldemort killed them last week. I'm technically a French citizen, even though I live here in Britain, so now that my parents are dead I am to enroll in Beauxbatons for the next two years."

Ettie listened to Tom explain his new history and could only think 'this is perfect'.

"I have something to tell you too," she said when Tom was done. "Sirius caught me coming back from the Manor on Wednesday and now he thinks I have a secret boyfriend. I need you to come over this weekend and play the part, please."

Tom blinked twice. "You want me to pretend to be your boyfriend?"

"I don't know how much of it is pretend at this point," Ettie said, not blushing at _all_ , "but yes."

"And your godfather is perfectly comfortable inviting a complete stranger into the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix? What about the Fidelius Charm?"

"There's actually two separate Charms," Ettie explained. "One over the room the Order uses, and one over the house as a whole. Sirius is prepared to invite you into the house part."

"I didn't know you could layer the Fidelius like that," Tom said. "That's fascinating. I wonder..."

"You're such a nerd, Tommy."

"Don't be rude to the one posing as your boyfriend, Ettie, or I might let something embarrassing slip."

The dream flickered before she could respond. Ettie made a face. 

"Voldemort is calling me," Tom said, frowning. "I wonder what he wants now."

And without so much as a goodbye, he disappeared. Ettie pouted as the dream changed to her sitting at the dining table, dressed as a Renaissance Lady while Sirius and Remus fought using lines from _Romeo and Juliet_.

...

The Night of the Dinner had arrived and Sirius pulled out all the stops. The entire place was spotless. Everything from the floor to the candlesticks shone. Sirius drilled Remus (who Sirius demanded attend and who didn't protest at all) and Ettie on their lines. He was even dressed in his finest robes.

But more importantly, the pies were loaded in the spring launchers, the goblets were hexed to spit their contents on the user, and Sirius' finest robes consisted of bright fuschia flowers on a lime green background. 

Sirius met The Boyfriend outside the house at seven o'clock on the dot (a punctual lad, how boring) and handed him the scrap of paper written by Remus, his darling Secret Keeper.

"The residence of Harriet Potter and Sirius Black can be found at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place," The Boyfriend read quietly. Sirius hated his voice immediately. It was far too rich and smooth. Ladies would love it. Sirius would know; he had a beautiful voice himself. 

"Welcome, Boyfriend!" Sirius cried, embracing him just to see how he would react. The Boyfriend went stiff and reached for his wand, though he didn't draw it. Paranoid. Cautious. But reasonable. 

"Mr Black," he said formally. "Thank you for inviting me into your home—"

Sirius slung an arm around his shoulders and dragged him inside. "Nonsense, call me Sirius! We're practically family!"

"Mr Black," The Boyfriend repeated frostily, forcibly removing Sirius' arm. Sirius just grinned. Prideful. Not a wuss. Waaaay too uptight. 

"And here's the house!" Sirius said, continuing as if nothing had happened. "Take a good look—it might be yours someday!"

That was Remus' cue. He came down the stairs in his old clothing, the shabby and patched kind he wore before he got a steady job, sleeves rolled up so his scars were on full display. His teeth, bared in a kindly smile, were just slightly too sharp. Yellowish eyes glinted in the candlelight.

He looked every inch the werewolf. 

"Hello, Thomas," Remus greeted. "I'm Remus Lupin, Harry's uncle."

The Boyfriend shook Remus' hand without hesitation. "Thomas Baudelaire. A pleasure."

Not an arsehole towards werewolves!

"Lovely to meet you at last," Remus agreed. "We've heard a lot about you—you know Harry, she can never stop talking."

"I've found it to be rather the opposite," The Boyfriend disagreed politely. 

Honest. Well, possibly honest. Not a people-pleaser.

"Are you done torturing Tom yet?" Harry's disapproving voice said as she appeared from down the hall. Sirius watched closely for The Boyfriend's reaction and was not disappointed. 

His eyes went wide and then softened slightly. His lips pulled up in the slightest of smiles. He angled his whole body towards Harry. When she came in for a hug, one arm wrapped around her shoulders and the other cradled her head. 

Either one hell of an actor or he was genuinely besotted. Excellent. His Bambi deserved someone who adored her. 

"Hi Ettie," Baudelaire said quietly, using the nickname her friends all had for her.

"Hey Tommy," Harry replied. She had gone soft too, or at least as soft as Harry ever got. They pulled apart only when Sirius cleared his throat loudly. At least they didn't kiss in front of him. 

"Dining room's this way," he said. He lead the pack, the kids in the middle, with Remus taking up the caboose. Sirius triggered the pie trap with a burst of rudimentary wandless magic and whirled around to see what happened. 

What happened was a completely intact pie floating in the air in front of Baudelaire. 

"Do you always assault your guests with confections or are boyfriends a special case?" he asked dryly, setting the pie down on an end table. 

"This is pretty much normal," Remus said, equally dry. "It's nothing personal."

"I see." 

Baudelaire had to be at least a little bit irritated but there wasn't a hint of it in his face, body language, or voice. If anything he seemed amused. So either he really was one hell of an actor or there was a sense of humor burried under all the prissiness and perfect posture. 

"Anyway, moving on," Sirius said loftily. "It's time for supper."

When they were all sat at the table, Sirius set aside the pranks and started his interrogation in earnest. He honestly wasn't as worried as he was acting (he trusted Harry had inherited her mother's good judgement) but since James wasn't here to be paranoid and overprotective, Sirius would have to do. 

"How old are you, Boyfriend?"

"Sixteen?"

Sirius hummed critically. "Two years is a bit of an age gap, isn't it?"

"Not really," Baudelaire said. 

"Of course _you'd_ say that. Do you have a job?"

"I'm a research assistant for the summer."

"Well, at least you're not as much a layabout as you look."

Harry shot him a poisonous glare and Sirius could admit that was possibly going too far. Remus looked disapproving, though that was his default face around Sirius. Baudelaire, however, took it without so much as a blink. 

"Looks can be decieving. After all, you appear to be a wizard of great humor."

Sirius grinned, delighted, at the insult. But also at the fact that Thomas went to take a casual sip of his drink. His face when the goblet spit butter beer on his dress robes was priceless. 

"You were saying?" Sirius asked smugly. Thomas narrowed his eyes.

"I believe you just proved my point." He pulled out his wand and cleaned the mess off his robes. Sirius pounced. 

"Ah-ha! You're the type to illegally use magic outside of school, are you? And here I thought there was a stick up your bum!"

Thomas froze for a second before shrugging elegantly. "The Trace does not apply to homeschooled students, so I suppose I grew into bad habits."

"Bad habits?!" Sirius gasped as if outraged. "It's against the law, young man!"

Thomas openly rolled his eyes. "You really can't pretend to be all that concerned about legality, Mr Black. I've heard stories of your school days."

"And what did you think of those stories?" 

"They're mildly entertaining," and oh, Sirius would _show_ him mildly entertaining, "but a true master never would have been caught and your record-breaking detentions speak for themselves."

Sirius sat back in his chair and glowered. Inwardly, he was warming up to young Thomas much more quickly than he had expected. He was similar enough to Harry that he could see why that got along, and different enough that he understood why they were attracted to each other. He seemed like a good lad...but not too good. 

"So, Thomas," Remus interjected. "Harry tells us you're going to attend Beauxbatons this year. What is your chosen area of study?"

"Teaching and experimental magic," Thomas answered. "With a focus on healing."

"Healing?" Sirius blinked. "I didn't expect that. Why healing?"

"My parents passed away recently and I...I feel I could have made a difference had I the ability." Thomas glanced down at his plate, dark red hair falling loosely into his eyes. 

"Ah," Sirius said quietly, his mood taking a dip. "I understand."

Conversation was awkward for a few minutes after that before Remus rallied them with a pertinent question.

"So, how did you two meet?"

Thomas glanced at Harry. "Should you tell them or should I?"

She considered it with more gravity than Sirius thought was necessary. Had James' sense of drama, that one. Not that Sirius was one to talk. 

"You can tell them." And there was a double meaning to that statement, he could practically taste it. 

"Very well." Thomas glanced up almost nervously. "Ettie stayed with my family the summer after her Second Year. She'd run away from the muggles, you see, and we found her sleeping under a bench in London."

Sirius dropped his fork. 

"You ran away from home?" Remus gasped.

"You lived with your boyfriend when you were twelve?" Sirius exclaimed. "Also, you ran away from home?"

"And this is why I didn't tell you," Harry snapped.

"We weren't together when she was twelve," Thomas said hastily. "In fact, we were...rather at odds."

"Harry, why would you run away? Especially after—" Remus looked at Thomas and changed what he was going to say, "—after everything that's happened!"

"Anything was better than staying with the Dursleys," Harry said viciously. 

"Even _dying?_ " Sirius barked. 

"Yes!"

Sirius flinched back. Remus put a hand on his arm. They exchanged a look and Sirius saw his own pain reflected in his friend's eyes. 

"We'll talk about it later," Sirius managed eventually.

"I'm sorry for any tension I caused," Thomas apologized. Sirius mustered up a smile. 

"It's alright, kid. We would've found out eventually." A thought struck him. "Say...when _did_ you and Harry get together?"

They glanced at each other. Harry was the one who answered. "Well...I suppose it was when I got suspended."

"I visited her in Little Whinging," Thomas explained. "So she wouldn't be alone with the muggles."

"We went to a fancy restaurant," Harry said with a smirk, "and he absolutely destroyed this stuck up couple that tried to insult me."

Tom grinned crookedly, an frankly unsettling expression. But Sirius supposed he couldn't help how his face was shaped. "It's always a pleasure to ruin someone for you, little love."

Harry went the same delicate shade of pink that James did when Lily did something romantic for a change. Sirius couldn't help the nostalgia in his smile. 

"You're alright," he decided aloud. Then he wagged what Harry called the 'Darth Vader finger' at Tom. "But no funny business with my goddaughter, understand?"

"As long as she desires it," Tom said.

Sirius sputtered but Harry just laughed her tinkly little laugh, almost exactly the same as when she was a baby, and his indignation melted away. 

"Fine," he huffed. "But if you get her pregnant, young man—"

"Padfoot!" Harry groaned. Tom looked alarmed. Remus buried his face in his hands. 

"What? It's a possibility! Why are you all acting so strange?"

"She's _fourteen_ , Sirius."

"I wouldn't—"

"Tom and I are not having sex, okay?" Harry said loudly. "Geeze! Get your mind out of the gutter, man!"

There was a beat of silence before they all burst into laughter. 

...

"That went surprisingly well."

"Didn't it? Are you in awe of my acting skills yet?"

"Oh, definitely. You're act as a ginormous prat had me completely fooled."

"Hush, you."

...

"Hello, Miss Rosier. You're here to apply for the position of History Professor, correct?" Minerva asked.

"That's right! I love History; I can't wait to show the kids how awesome it really is!" Miss Rosier said excitedly, her curls bouncing around her face. 

Minerva smiled. "I quite agree. Now, I've gone over your qualifications and I must say we usually look for more in our Professors than an Acceptable on NEWT History, but seeing as you are the only candidate...you're hired."

"Yay! Thank you so much Professor!"

"Please, call me Minerva. We're to be colleagues, after all."

"Then I'm Sera," she replied, grinning. "I can already tell we're going to be great friends, Minnie."

...

Voldemort had two compromised spies and no time to recruit a new one. He needed a seasoned agent, one who didn't have to worm their way into the heart of Dumbledore's Order because they were already there. What he needed was one of the old goat's most trusted followers on his side.

"Barty," Voldemort said as an idea struck him. "Stay. The rest of you, out."

"How can I help, my Lord?" Barty asked, bowing low. Voldemort studied him intently. 

"Your godfather," he said, "is Alastor Moody, correct?"

Barty grimaced as he nodded. "Yes milord, unfortunately."

"And how well do you know the man? His history? His personality and habits?"

Barty swallowed. 

"Very well, my Lord. Before I learned the truth of your cause I idolized Moody. I wanted to be just like him."

Voldemort chuckled. "Very good, Barty. You will gain your wish, though no doubt not in the way your younger self invisioned."

...

"Here you are, sir," the assistant said, bowing as he handed Albus the ancient rome. "Your hour starts now. Your life is forfeit should you damage, copy the content of, or attempt to steal the Book of Life and Death."

"But of course," Albus chuckled, though he knew the assistant was perfectly serious. He wasted no time in flipping through to the appropriate section, one he had not ever explored before: cheating death. 

It was not long before Albus found what he was looking for. 

_—and in a rare phenomenon, when two personages of highly compatible souls are emersed together in powerful Death magicks, their mortal spirits will flow together, and thus where one survives, the other cannot die—_

Albus' eyes grew wide with horror. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please vote between: Black Kiss, Order of the Serpent, Leviathan, and Hydra's Kiss for the name of Ettie's group.


	7. watch me make them bow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was by far the most difficult chapter to write; sorry it took so long. I'm not entirely satisfied with it, but I hope you all enjoy it.

Albus awoke with a jolt, raising his head from his desk. He looked around and rubbed his neck, then let out a bitter chuckle. It had been some years since he fell asleep on his homework.

Sighing, Albus cleaned up the ink smudges on his notes and got back to work. He had, he believed, successfully pieced together what happened that fateful Halloween night and uncovered the reason Voldemort had not died as he should have.

When Voldemort attempted to kill Harriet Potter, the energy of the Killing Curse mingled with the power of the sacrifice of young Lily Potter. In the instant before the curse struck, a bond was formed between their souls. In the chaos, the Curse ricocheted and struck Voldemort rather than it's intended target. There were large holes, but it was the only explanation Albus could think of and it fit what he had read in the Book of Life and Death. 

With the why taken care of, Albus needed to figure out the how. How to sever the bond without killing an innocent girl...which would necessitate creating an entirely new spell or ritual, which was never his strong suit, if not an entirely new branch of soul magic. 

"Better get to work then, old man," he muttered to himself. 

...

Voldemort wanted to curse someone, to see their bones shatter and their blood boil, but the only ones available for torture were Barty and Bella, both far too valuable to waste on stress relief. He limited himself to a few seconds of the Cruciatus each and resolved to visit the prisoner later that night. 

"Albus Dumbledore has ordered Alastor Moody to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts," he said softly, "in order to gain magical, spiritual, and physical diagnostics from Harriet Potter."

His enemy was ordering his spy to gather information on his horcrux. Voldemort snarled and blasted a decorative vase to ashes. 

Dumbledore suspected the girl had something to do with his survival, he knew it. His only consolation was that the old fool clearly hadn't discovered Barty was impersonating Moody, else he never would have sent him on such a sensitive mission. 

Well. It was far from ideal, but Lord Voldemort would not be foiled by an unexpected bump in the road. He could turn this to his advantage yet. 

"Barty, you will learn what Dumbledore suspects about the girl. Do not falsify the results he asks you for unless otherwise instructed. Inform me of what spells he tells you to use before you use them."

"I am to accept the post, then, my Lord?"

Voldemort hexed Barty for asking such a stupid question. "Obviously. Now get out of my sight, both of you!"

They departed, leaving Voldemort alone with his thoughts. 

...

Sera couldn't believe she was going to be a teacher. She had always liked children, of course, but she didn't fancy herself very good at explaining things or simplifying her thoughts. Thankfully History of Magic involved very little theory. 

She was excited about fixing the class and even more excited to be assigned a mission by the Dark Lord himself. All her previous orders had been from one of the lower their Death Eaters and once from Lucius Malfoy, but this! Sera was moving up in the world!

Perhaps if she did very well she would even receive the Mark. Then again, did she really want to? She was ambitious, sure, but she also had self-preservation and the Dark Lord was notoriously curse happy. The Marked Death Eaters were around him far more than lowly agents like herself. 

Not that it mattered what Sera wanted. If the Dark Lord saw fit to give her his Mark, she had no choice but to accept it as the honor it was. If not, then she couldn't exactly push for one. That would get her killed!

Sera hummed to herself as she organized her lesson plans. She had more immediate things to worry about...like whether she should play the 'nice professor' or go the full mile and make children cry. 

...

The last month of summer was surreal for Ettie. She was living with the two uncles she had hated this time last year, not-so-fake dating the boy who kidnapped her, and doing incredibly normal things like writing to her friends and going out for ice cream. 

Ettie was almost relieved to be going back to Hogwarts, where people still hated her and she hated them. That was her normal, not this...stereotypical domesticity. It felt like playing pretend. 

"Harry, are you ready?" Remus called. "The train leaves in fifteen minutes!"

"Ready," she yelled back, wincing at how high pitched her voice went. There was a reason she tried not to scream at people, and it wasn't because she was attempting to be nice. 

She grabbed her trunk, wrapped Ebony around her shoulders, and went thundering down the stairs, almost bowling Sirius over at the bottom. 

"Careful Bambi," he laughed. 

~Yes, careful,~ Ebony said grumpily. ~I'm trying to sleep.~

"Sorry," she said to both of them. A few minutes later they apparated to Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Ettie accepted a hug from each of them.

"Have a good year, Harry," Sirius said, misty eyed. "Kick lots of arse, okay?"

Remus kissed her forehead. "Don't let the haters get you down, Bambi."

Ettie rolled her eyes fondly, allowing a small smile to bloom on her face. "Whatever. Love you dorks."

Then she ran away to find her people before they could register that she'd said the L-word to them for the first time. 

...

Tom wasn't sure how to feel about going back to school, especially one that wasn't Hogwarts. Hogwarts was his home in every way that mattered and he was sure than Beauxbatons would fall short in every way imaginable. 

Still, a mission was a mission, and so Tom climbed into the carriage that met him at the train station with his smile and disguise firmly in place. 

He wasn't expecting the first student he met to coo over his hair. 

"Ooh! The color is exquisite! Very beautiful! Who did it for you?"

Tom blinked at the boy whose nose was about three inches from his scalp. He pushed him away gently. "Genetics. I'm Thomas Baudelaire, and you are?"

"Francis Chastain! Where are you from? Your accent is very good," he said. 

"My parents were French but I grew up in Britain," Tom answered. 

"Oh, I see. Why are you not attending their 'Ogwarts, then?"

"They never bothered to get me British citizenship. I was homeschooled," Tom said with a self depreciating grin. Chastain let out an ear splitting squeal.

"And you have dimples! Oh Thomas, I think you and I are going to be very good friends."

Tom...didn't know what to say to that. When he grew up, homosexuals hid themselves away if they didn't want to get attacked. The wizarding world was more progressive, he supposed, but never before had he met such an...openly gay individual.

"Leave him be, Francis," a frankly gorgeous voice interjected. "Can't you see he doesn't know what to do with your advances?"

Tom couldn't help but turn and look, coming face to face with the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He felt the sudden urge to reveal his true identity to impress her. Tom strangled the impulse easily and diagnosed the witch as part Veela. 

She smiled at him like she was eyeing a particularly delicious steak. "I am Fleur Delacour."

"Thomas Baudelaire. It's a pleasure."

"Likewise. Francis is right. Your accent is very good...for an Englishman, that is."

"Am I supposed to thank you?" Tom asked, just lightly enough that it could be taken as either offended or playful. 

"That would be appropriate, seeing as I have just complimented you," Delacour responded with a smile that could be likewise be taken as attack or friendly jab. Tom, despite himself, was beginning to have fun. 

"But of course," Tom said, not giving any thanks. She smiled less like he was prey and more like she had found a rival. 

"Ah, Thomas," she sang, "I think we are going to be very good friends."

"That or very good enemies." He returned her smile tooth for tooth. 

And, as they say, let the games begin. 

...

Ron didn't have much hope for getting rid of Potter this year. He was tired of it all: the scheming, the tactics, the blood, sweat and frustrated tears he put into expelling her, only to have the bitch receive a measley two-week suspension.

So when Dean asked him when their first meeting would be, Ron shook his head. 

"Let's take a break for a few months. I think we all deserve it."

...

Ettie, like about half of the Slytherin Table, was staring with narrowed eyes at Alastor Moody. Not even the news of the TriWizard Tournament was enough to deter their attention. Unlike half of Slytherin Table, Ettie wasn't staring because the man had killed or imprisoned a family member. She was trying to figure out if this was really Moody or the Death Eater played by Doctor Who in the movie. 

"Relax, Boss Lady," Blaise murmured. "He's retired."

"That's not it," Ettie said, but she did turn away from the maybe-Auror and back to her breakfast. It was the first day back at school and she didn't intend to waste it on stressing herself out. 

Besides, even if Moody was actually a Death Eater, who cared? Voldemort wasn't interested in killing her. Unless of course he had discovered her little coven and planted someone in the staff to get rid of her. 

"Relax," Blaise said again, bumping her shoulder. Ettie jabbed him in the ribs. 

"I'm perfectly relaxed," she retorted brilliantly. 

"Right."

Ettie narrowed her eyes and smiled sweetly. Blaise blanched. 

"You're going to get it in training, love," she said lowly, the endearment slipping out against her will. Stupid Tommy was rubbing off on her. 

Blaise wisely said nothing.

...

Beauxbatons was beautiful, Tom would admit. All sophisticated architecture and light, elegant decor. He far preferred the aesthetic hodgepodge of Hogwarts, however, the way you could go from marble staircases and crystal chandeliers in one hall and simple stone flooring with rustic tapestries in the next. It was invigorating in a way that the chateau of Beauxbatons was not. 

And Tom simply could not get used to the lack of Houses! While it was convenient that there were no overt boundaries he had to cross to gain allies, it felt so unorganized. Students were separated first by gender and then by alphabetical order of all things. Just ridiculous. 

Grievances aside, Tom was enjoying himself. The variety of classes they offered extended beyond Hogwarts' magic-heavy courses, which he didn't mind as he had largely learned far beyond what this level of school could teach him. So Tom went a little wild. He took a ballroom dance course in order to better integrate himself with the elite, who were all in that class. He took Competitive Dueling, which he hadn't realized contained so much physical training but loved nonetheless. He even took a debate class, just to test himself against the youth of today. 

One thing he both loved and loathed about Beauxbatons was Fleur Delacour. She was fun to spar with, admittedly, with the mindset of a shark and a tongue that could flay skin from bone. But she was also his biggest obstacle to gaining allies, as she had most of the influential students under her belt already, and made it her personal mission to ensure he made no connections with any of her 'friends'.

...

Ettie, true to her word, absolutely thrashed Blaise in training. She thrashed everybody else too, in the interest of fairness. After the session was done, they all flopped around on the variety of sofas and cushions Tippy had produced for them.

"Did we ever vote on a name?" Tracey wondered. 

"Nope," Blaise said.

"Can we?" 

Ettie hummed. "Alright. Well, what are the options?"

"Curators of Chaos!"

"Black Kiss."

"Serpent's Shadow!"

"How about Leviathan?" Marcus suggested. Ettie blinked as she rolled that around in her mind. Leviathan. That struck one hell of a cord with her. Apparently the rest of her people agreed, because they were chanting it before long. 

"Le-vi-a-than! Le-vi-a-than! Le-vi-a-than!"

"Okay, okay, shut up," Ettie laughed. "Now, I formally dub thee, my coven, Leviathan! May we crush our enemies in both body and spirit!"

Her people roared. 

...

Sirius smiled as he read Harry's letter. It was short and somewhat awkward, but she was writing to him! And she'd only been gone a week!

Humming, Sirius all but skipped down the stairs to find Moony had let himself in and was making tea. 

"Morning," he said. "Did you get Harry's letter?"

"Yup! She said her dueling club finally has a name: Leviathan. It's pretty intense for a school club, but hey. That's our Harry for you."

"She's doing so well," Remus said fondly. Sirius took a swig of burning hot tea and winced as he nodded. 

"What's up next on the agenda for the Order?" he said once he swallowed and could feel his tongue again. 

"Snape says that Voldemort has recently been seen in the company of a boy, maybe fifteen or sixteen years old."

"Is it a rescue mission?"

"No," Remus said coldly. "He killed Amelia."

Sirius clenched his teeth. He hated that he lived in a world where a kid, barely older than Harry, could and would do something so terrible. 

"So we're trying to catch him," Sirius said. 

"Nah, not yet. We want to figure out where he came from first. Rumor...rumor says that he can speak Parseltongue."

Sirius' blood went cold. Voldemort with a son? A smaller version of himself? _Two_ Voldemorts?

"Yeah," Remus said, in agreement with whatever look was on Sirius' face right then. 

"Damn. I hate to say this about a kid...but I hope he dies soon. The world couldn't handle two Dark Lords right now."

"Got that right," Remus said darkly.

...

Ron Weasley and his idiots were going to leave Ettie alone. For now, anyway. Ettie couldn't help but relax once Hannah told her the news. Weasley had proven to be smarter than she anticipated. Fending off another one of his ploys was not an appealing prospect, not when she was already stressed enough about Voldemort slaughtering her little coven, whether or not Moody was there to spy on her, and getting perfect grades on top of it all. 

One of the harder classes to ace, shockingly enough, was History of Magic. Rosier might have looked harmless and acted sweet, but her coursework betrayed her inner sadist.

At least the new Transfiguration Professor, Blanc, was a pushover. With the easiest and hardest classes trading places, her workload remained relatively stable.

And then there was Defense Against the Dark Arts. Moody was a damn nightmare! They didn't have much homework, but there wasn't a day where she didn't exit his class feeling like she wanted to curse someone. They were "working on resisting the Imperius Curse" which was a load of dung. Repeated exposure didn't give someone more will power, and that was what was needed to shake off mind control. Will power and a rock solid sense of purpose. 

Ettie had the former in spades, if she did say so herself, but was lacking in the second. Her purpose in life was to not die, not get the Sleeping Beauty treatment, and hopefully keep her people from getting killed because of her. She didn't have any sort of real mission, and that was why she couldn't resist for more than a few seconds. 

The rest of her classes were more or less the same. They'd moved on to palmistry and cloud reading in Divination. Ancient Runes was finally beyond the memorization and theory stage and into ward making and breaking. Charms was still Charms, Flickwick still ignored her, and they were working on spells Ettie mastered in Second Year. Astronomy was still boring except where it intersected with Divination. Potions was amusing mostly because she got to see the Gryffindors treated like trash for once. 

As for her extracurricular activities, getting her ass kicked by Snape and kicking the asses of Leviathan was still ongoing. Everything was the same, the good and bad. Which meant that very soon, the other shoe was going to drop.

...

Tom made a habit of ordering the Daily Prophet even while in France. There was news he was waiting on, after all. News that should have been carried out by one prostitute, a house elf, and a werewolf Auror-turned-hitman. 

It came on the third Wednesday of the school year: Ulrich Jordan was dead. Nobody much cared. It was a side note on a page of obituaries of more important people. Jordan was an old recluse, a hermit that had a weak spot for women and gambling. His only family left was a great-nephew he didn't care about. 

He was also an inventor and researcher for the Order of the Phoenix. 

Tom smiled to himself as he sipped at his morning tea, nodding politely to those who greeted him. The trial run of his assassination team was complete. With that out of the way, he could start on the first phase of his plan of creating an economic monopoly on Wizarding Britain. 

Tom stood and left the Breakfast Hall. He had a letter to write.

...

Ettie sighed as she read Tom's letter. The boy was something else. She couldn't really condone killing off businessmen to replace them with a network of allied corporations, but it wasn't like any of the people he was killing were good people. He found the worst of them, who just happened to be the richest and most influential. 

In any case, she wasn't going to leave Tom hanging. If she did that then all the lives lost would go to waste. In her next ass-kicking session with her coven, Ettie called together her people whose families were big in business. 

"I'm going to need a list of all your businesses' largest competitors."

And the looks she got for that. 

"Well?" Ettie said pointedly to hide her own discomfort.

They exchanged glances and then shrugged. Adrian stepped forward and bowed politely.

"We'll have it for you by tomorrow morning, milady."

She nodded in approval and went back to what she was comfortable with: wiping the floor with her fellow wizards.

...

Barty would admit it: he liked being a teacher, liked the light in the brats' eyes when they finally understood something, liked being completely in control for once, even if it was only in his classroom. He was glad his Lord had given him this assignment.

He also enjoyed playing the spy. He managed to fufil both roles his Lord set for him: gaining reliable intel on the Order of the Phoenix and taking Dumbledore's readings of the Potter brat. He hadn't missed a single Order meeting despite his full time job and Barty felt that was something to be proud of. 

But now his Lord was adding another task to his workload: help the traitor Snape train the Potter brat. And Barty was happy to comply! Really he was. But his Lord demanded he train her thrice a week, which cut down the time in which he could grade coursework to virtually nothing. 

It was a petty trouble. But it irked Barty to give all but no homework. He wanted to be a good teacher to the next generation of witches and wizards, to influence them in the right direction. Of course, he could hardly do that overtly, disgusted as Moody as he was. 

Nonetheless. It didn't matter. He would obey his Lord, whether the orders inconvenienced him or not. 

...

Ettie walked into her bi-weekly getting her ass kicked lesson with Snape and promptly threw herself to the side as a jet of red light hurtled over her head. She returned fire without a thought, only to jerk in shock when she saw just who was attacking her. 

Moody.

He pounced on her hesitation and in an instant she was on the floor, bound in ropes from head to toe. As the ropes settled to the appropriate tightness, she subtly braced her arm at an angle to give her some wiggle room. 

"Constant vigilance!" Moody barked. "You don't let your guard down just because your enemy isn't who you expect!"

"What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded, looking back and forth between him and Snape. 

"Our...common acquaintance desires that Alastor assist me in your training," Snape said with a sneer.

Common acquaintance: Voldemort. So Moody really was the Doctor Who guy. 

"Fine," Ettie said. She twitched her wand and thought, _diffindo_. The ropes unraveled and Ettie rolled quickly to the side. 

And proceeded to get her ass kicked twice as bad as usual. 

...

Tom had a problem. Delacour clearly intended to be a rival, but he had not anticipated her to be so successful. Tom would admit he was used to being the most charming one in a room at any given time, but Delacour's Allure meant that whether people were attracted to her or not, they couldn't help but want to impress her. 

Fortunately, Tom also had a solution. 

"Francis, would you mind helping me with something?" Tom asked his roommate, who brightened immediately. 

"Of course, Thomas! What do you need me to do?" 

Tom grinned, knowing Chastain was weak to dimples, and pulled out his wand. 

"It's a spell I invented. It's supposed to protect the castor from compulsion charms and love spells."

Chastain giggled. "Ooh, I see. You are afraid the fangirls will get their fangs into you!"

Tom sheepishly ran a hand through his currently red hair. "Maybe."

Chastain laughed again and patted Tom's arm. "Don't worry. I will help you perfect your spell and protect you from the leagues of beautiful women who chase you."

Tom rolled his eyes and shoved him lightly. "Shut it, you. Ready?"

"Always," Chastain sniffed. 

Tom took aim and cast his spell. He privately called it Delacour's Downfall. Chastain shuddered minutely. 

"You should work on the feel," he said in distaste. "It is like being dunked into a cold river."

"Can't do much about that, I'm afraid," Tom said apologetically. "Okay, now for the compulsion..."

He tried it, compelling Chastain to cluck like a chicken. 

"I think not," he harrumphed. "Wait—Thomas, your protection spell worked!"

Tom smirked to himself and twirled his wand between his fingers. Yes, yes it did. 

...

"Professor, can I talk to you?"

Albus blinked twice, the only sign of his great surprise, and turned around. 

"Of course, Miss Granger," he said, beckoning her into his office. "What can I help you with?"

The child took a deep breath, looking uncharacteristically nervous. "Sir, you missed class today."

Albus blinked again. "Preposterous. It's only eight..."

He trailed off as he checked his timepiece and discovered that it was not eight in the morning. It was, in fact, two in the afternoon. Albus was aghast. 

"Miss Granger, I deeply apologize! Why did someone not fetch me earlier?"

Miss Granger winced. "They tried, sir. Professor Brown knocked on the door for half an hour."

Albus was ashamed. He had not felt the sensation in some time and found it was not to his liking. 

"Again, I apologize. I can assure you it will not happen again. And, if I may ask, how is it that you got past the locking charms?" he said. 

"Well...I invented a spell for it some time ago," Miss Granger said shyly. "After Professor Black told us about his knife, the one that could pick any lock."

"So you replicated the effects in a spell," Albus said, absently toying with his beard. "Very well done, Miss Granger. If you will excuse me, I must apologize to the other teachers and students for my lapse."

"Wait, Professor!" 

Albus turned. "Yes, Miss Granger?" 

She chewed her bottom lip. "I...I know I may be overstepping my boundaries, but, sir, what's wrong?"

Albus hesitated as he weighed what to share with such a young witch. He didn't wish to burden her, but sometimes the best insights came from the mouths of babes. 

"I am attempting to save a life," he said at last. "An innocent life connected to a terrible disaster. If this life is lost, the disaster will be averted, but I am struggling to find a solution wherein all blameless parties survive."

The moment he finished Albus feared he had said too much. Miss Granger was silent for several long seconds. 

"Sir...you are likely the most powerful and learned wizard in the world," she said quietly. "And, well, if you're struggling to find a solution, there probably isn't one."

Albus closed his eyes. She was right, of course. He had studied every branch of soul magic in the world in an attempt to save Miss Potter. None of them had the answer, so he attempted to make one. But developing that kind of spell or ritual would require experimentation that no good man could undertake, and decades of time besides. 

"I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean—I'm sure we can find something—"

He opened his eyes. Albus wiped the tears from his cheeks and did his best to smile at the poor girl. 

"No, Miss Granger. You are right."

Miss Potter was lost. It was time he stop trying to save one drowning person and focus on keeping the entire ship from going under. 

...

Ettie now had dueling lessons every day after classes, in addition to homework and coordinating between her people and Tom to build a monopoly. This was because three days were taken up being beaten up by both Snape and Moody and Snape began teaching her Occlumency on the rest of the days. 

Not in the way it happened in the books, thankfully. It was mostly a lot of meditating, organizing her memories and constructing what she privately called a mind palace. The attack-her-mind-repeatedly part wouldn't come until she already had basic defenses.

A consequence of this was that Ettie's time and energy to train with Leviathan was at an all time low. She was so damn busy, but she didn't want her friends to suffer for it. 

"Blaise. Follow," she snapped, marching off towards the nearest Chamber entrance without bother to see if he followed. 

"Milady?" he asked, golden eyes concerned. She grimaced. 

"I'm fine. Now, I'm going to teach you some basic commands in Parseltongue. Open, close, lights on, lights off. I...don't have energy to train with you lot as often. You're in charge when I'm not there."

Thankfully, Blaise accepted this without comment. 

"Yes, Boss. Do you want progress reports?"

"Yes, please." Ettie pressed her palms to her eyes and wasn't particularly surprised when Blaise pulled her into a slow, cautious hug. She didn't hug back but she did lean into him, allowing for just a moment for her friend to support her. 

Ettie pulled away and have him a brief but heartfelt smile. "Okay. Now, 'open' is..."

...

All it took was one conversation with Adeline DeBroux, Delacour's bitterest enemy, and everybody knew about the charm that could protect one from Veela Allure. Within two weeks Delacour had lost all but the closest of her 'friends' when they discovered that without her Allure, Delacour came across as abrasive and arrogant rather than charming and commanding. 

By the end of the month even those few had abandoned the poor dear when she grew angry and bitter, lashing out and experiencing the natural consequences of her actions for what may have been the first time in her life. 

Tom might have felt bad for her had she not attacked him from behind over the whole affair. 

He heard the quiet crackle of a curse soaring towards his back and ducked to the side, turning neatly to face a witch that was not quite so beautiful as she had once been. 

"You bastard," she hissed, eyes glazed over with both hatred and tears. 

"My parents were married," Tom replied indifferently, which was a lie. He thought. 

"This is not a game!" Delacour shrieked, hurling another curse at him. She was decently fast. Tom caught the spell on a shield and disarmed her with a flick of his wand. 

"Yes it is," he disagreed. "That's exactly how you treated it up until you started losing."

"Losing?" She laughed bitterly. "You have ruined me."

Tom couldn't help but roll his eyes. "You're more than your Allure, sweetheart. If anything, I've done you a favor. Now you are free to discover what you can accomplish of your own doing."

Delacour spat at him, literally, like a muggle. Tom sidestepped the glob of phlegm with a sneer of disgust. 

"How attractive." 

"You're a monster," she said, as if it were the worst insult she could think of. Tom laughed.

"Yes, I think I am. But not because I took away your sparkly little mind control pheromones."

Her head jerked when she called her Allure what it was. There was genuine hurt and shame in her eyes. Tom sighed. Lovely. Now he felt bad. 

"It's not the end of the world," he said. "Chin up. It could be worse."

In hindsight, maybe that wasn't the best thing to say. Delacour looked ready to attack him again, unarmed or not. Tom dropped her wand on the floor and watched her scramble for it. 

"See you around, sweetheart."

...

Ettie was enjoying a rare evening where she had absolutely nothing she had to do. She took the opportunity to simply observe her coven smashing one another to pieces, Luna cuddled in the lap and Blaise's shoulder the perfect headrest. 

They'd gotten better since she last observed, let alone actively taught them. Ettie felt her lips curve up into a small smile. 

"Well there's something you don't see every day," Adrian exclaimed, crouching by her sofa to get a better look. "The Boss Lady is smiling!"

She kicked him and he went down laughing. Ettie schooled her face into what used to be natural blankness as the rest of the coven turned to look. Blaise laughed at their disappointment.

"Don't worry everyone," Luna said dreamily, drawing her wand through the air as if tracing patterns only she could see. "When her lover comes you'll see plenty of smiles! It'll be announced at dinner tonight."

_Lover?!_

"Lover?!" Dawson sputtered. Ettie shot the Third Year a dirty look that shut him up immediately. 

"What's his name?" Cecilia said excitedly. 

"Or her's," someone in the back said. 

"Or her's," she amended. "So?"

Ettie sighed. "Thomas Baudelaire."

A chorus of 'ooh's and 'ahhh's. Some of the girls and two boys actually squealed. It wasn't very Slytherin of them, but she supposed she wasn't one to judge. 

"Baudelaire as in the Potions researchers?"

"Yeah," Ettie said. 

"Oh, poor guy," Cecilia winced.

Ettie remembered Tom's supposed parents had been killed by Voldemort over the summer.

"They weren't very good parents," she invented. Her people nodded as if they understood, which pissed Ettie off. They shouldn't have to empathize with shitty parents. 

"How long have you been together?"

"What does he look like?"

"Is he a good kisser?"

"Okay, that's enough of that!" Ettie said loudly. She stood, depositing Luna next to Blaise, and pulled out her wand. "No more slacking."

The nervous looks were as sweet as nectar on her tongue. 

...

True to Luna's little prediction, McGonagall announced at dinner that the Beauxbatons and Durmstang students were to arrive the next day. Ettie had to struggle to keep the grin off her face, because frankly, she couldn't wait to see Tom again. 

...

Tom, quite frankly, couldn't wait to see Ettie again. It had only been a few weeks and they had spoken in dreams plenty of times, and yet he still found himself imagining the moment she spotted him. 

"You look cheerful," Chastain commented. 

"I am," Tom said truthfully, with a small but happy smile. "My...girlfriend attends Hogwarts."

"Ahh! A girlfriend?! Tom, you tease, you've been leading me on!"

But he didn't truly seem angry, so Tom only shot him a cocky grin. "I can't help that I'm unbearably charming."

Chastain and Tom's other 'friends' laughed, though he noticed some of the girls looked remarkably put out, however they tried to hide it. Delacour, who had yet to gain back any sort of following, sneered in his direction. 

Tom hoped she wouldn't try to go after Ettie because of their little disagreement. Not that the hypothetical duel wouldn't be a delight to watch, but Tom did so hate it when anyone tried to touch what was his. 

"Ah," Madame Maxine said suddenly, "we are almost there. Remember, children, to behave yourselves. We cannot let these Britons show us up, now can we?"

A murmur of agreement. Tom placed a hand on his chest as if offended. 

"Why Madame," he sniffed, "you wound me!"

The massive Headmistress laughed her low, rich laugh. "Nonsense, Thomas. You may have been raised British, but you are French down to your bones. How else could you be so charming?"

"How else indeed," Tom mused with a private grin. The carriage landed as light as a feather and Tom and the others lined up in preparation to disembark. He was pleased to note that all his people had brought with them heavy cloaks to combat the Scottish autumn chill, in contrast to the handful of students who were not yet under his scope of influence. 

Madame Maxine stepped from the coach. Tom and DeBroux, the default leaders now that Delacour had been dethroned, led the lines of boys and girls out into the chilly air. 

Tom watched as McGonagall stepped forward to greet Maxine. He found himself holding his breath as her eyes scanned over him, but the disguise—a handful of permanent color changing charms and dusting of fake freckles—did its job perfectly. 

"It's a pleasure to host you and your students," she said, taking Madame Maxine's hands. 

"And eet iz a pleasure to be 'ere," his Headmistress replied smoothly. 

They chatted a while longer, but Tom's eyes were drawn straight to the crowd of Hogwarts students standing in a crowd in front of the school. He spotted Ettie immediately, standing flanked by her coven. He shot her a wink. She smirked back and blew him a kiss. Tom pretended to catch it and hold it to his cheek, smiling. 

Chastain squealed softly in his ear and more than one jaw dropped among both schools. Tom decided he rather liked the dumbfounded looks. He turned to Maxine. 

"Madame, do we have permission to mingle?" he asked in French. She smiled indulgently.

"Of course, Thomas. Go say hello to your love."

He shot her a grin of thanks and strode confidently across the invisible divide between schools. His friends followed after a split second of hesitation. Ettie watched him like he was the only thing that existed, a smile playing around her lips that he didn't think she was aware of. 

"Hello, little love," he greeted. To his surprise, Ettie scoffed in disdain. 

"Oh Tommy. Do you really think that will suffice?"

And before he could respond, she grasped him by the tie and pulled him down into a passionate kiss. Tom laughed against her soft lips and kissed back. He could distantly hear exclamations of shock and confusion, but everything was swallowed up by the witch before him. 

She broke away and smiled at him. "See, Tommy, that is how you greet your girlfriend."

"My apologies," he said. "I will ensure you receive proper salutations in the future."

They turned as one to face their audience. 

"Tom, these are my friends," Inner Circle, he translated, "Blaise, Luna, Marcus, Cecilia, Henrik, Tracey, Nwaike, Millicent, and Adrian."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," he said, nodding his head to the appropriate degree. They reciprocated with murmured greetings and shallow bows, looking at him with a mixture of wonder and caution. 

"And these are my own friends," he said, rattling off their names. They stepped forward her air kissed Ettie's cheeks as they were introduced.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," Ettie said with surprising diplomacy. Or maybe his arrival had just put her in a good mood. 

"Thank you! Eet iz wonderful to meet our Thomas's lover," Chastain said happily. Tom did not miss the slight emphasis he put on 'our'. 

By her ghost of a smirk, Ettie noticed it too. She laced their fingers together and leaned her head against his arm. Tom brought their hands to his lips to press a chaste kiss to the back of her knuckles. 

Chastain pouted but wisely backed down. He knew when he was beaten. 

"Look at the lake!" someone shouted. Tom and Ettie turned their heads in synchrony and watched as the massive ship broke through the water and glided to shore. The two Headmistresses made nearly identical sounds of disdain as Igor Karkaroff approached, trailed by his own students. 

"Ladies!" he boomed. "Ah, you grace me with your presence! How wonderful this is!"

"Hello, Igor," McGonagall said frostily, pointedly pulling her hand away when he tried to plant a kiss on her hand. Undeterred, the awful man turned to Maxine. 

"Do not even try eet," she said, adding a smile so it seemed playful rather than cruel. Karkaroff laughed and kept laughing until he turned and saw Tom's face. Then he choked on his tongue. 

Tom made his eyebrows draw together in a mix of uncertainty and amusement. He exchanged a look with Ettie, who shrugged. She was straight faced but he could practically feel her amusement. 

Karkaroff recovered quickly. 

"My apologies," he said jovially. "I have not seen the splendor of Hogwarts in quite some time!"

It was a decent save, but Tom knew he'd caught the attention of those sharp enough to notice the man's lapse. Thankfully McGonagall didn't seem to be one of them. 

"Shall we?" she suggested, gesturing to the castle gates. 

...

Miss Potter had a boyfriend. Minerva felt ashamed for being so shocked, but really, the girl herself would probably admit she could be quite abrasive. Any boy who could be romantically involved with her would have to be a saint...that, or just as wild and dangerous. She hoped it was not the latter. Hogwarts wouldn't last the day. 

...

The Bitch Queen had a boyfriend. Fred would have felt bad for the poor bugger if he hadn't probably been just as evil as his girl. Not that either of them were acting evil at the moment. In fact, if he didn't know better, Fred would say Potter looked genuinely besotted, a sentiment returned with interest by the French boy. Thankfully he did know better. All the evidence pointed to Potter being a full blown psychopath and he wasn't going to be fooled by by a few sappy looks and a kiss. 

...

Ettie had a boyfriend! Hannah couldn't help but watch out of the corner of her eye, even as she pretended to be listening to Susan gossip about Viktor Krum, who was sitting four seats down and could probably hear every word. They looked so cute together! Ettie was smiling properly, which made her teeth look very white and very sharp. The Beauxbatons boy's eyes softened every time he looked at her. Hannah hoped she could find love too someday...

...

Lily's daughter had a boyfriend. And not just any boy, oh no. Harriet had chosen the Dark Lord's heir for her first foray into the messy world of romance, and he couldn't do or say a thing about it. Severus longed for a glass of something stronger than the what was currently in his cup. He was going to need it. 

...

Potter had a boyfriend. Draco suspected it was Riddle, disguised as this Thomas Baudelaire. And it was none of his business. Really. It wasn't as if he had fantasized about taking Potter to the Yule Ball Father told him would take place...no. Best not to even think such things so close to Rid—Baudelaire. Draco liked his insides exactly where they were, thank you very much. 

...

Boss Lady had a boyfriend. Blaise had suspected, of course, ever since he witnessed that hug at the beginning of last year. But it was another thing to have it confirmed. He wondered why Baudelaire had changed his hair and eyes, though. Perhaps he was in disguise. 

...

Ettie had a boyfriend and damn was she happy about it. A warm, somewhat possessive feeling of pride wormed its way into her chest whenever she caught someone sending her an envious look, especially the pretty little French girls (and boy). 

~Careful love,~ Tom whispered in her ear. ~Your smugness is showing.~ 

~Let it,~ she hissed back. He chuckled and went back to his dinner. Ettie followed suit. Before long, desert was polished off and McGonagall was standing up.

"The TriWizard Tournament is an ancient competition, held every seven years between the three oldest schools of magic in Europe. Eighty years ago, the Tournament was banned due to new laws passed against child endangerment. Now out collective Ministries have seen fit to reinstate the event, with a few modifications."

Her eyes swept across the crowd, cool and stern.

"No student under the age of seventeen is permitted to put their name forward," a roar of protest, "and an effort has been made to keep the Tasks on this side of deadly without loosing the challenging quality. The Goblet of Fire will be kept in the Central Hall for the next two weeks. To submit a name, one must step past an age line and manually drop a parchment bearing their name and school into the flames. The prize is a thousand galleons and, supposedly, eternal fame."

McGonagall sat down and the hall erupted in excited chatter. 

"You're submitting your name, aren't you?" Ettie asked Tom. 

"Naturally," he said with a confident smirk. "It'll be fun!"

She rolled her eyes but couldn't help the answering smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth. 

"Just don't lose any limbs, okay?"

"I'll do my best," Tom said lightly, standing and offering her his hand. She took it. "Give me the tour? I've always wanted to see Hogwarts."

"Sure," she replied, smothering a laugh. Tom probably knew the castle better than anyone but the Founders themselves. 

She turned to her coven. "I'll be back by curfew."

"Of course."

"Have fun, milady."

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Thomas."

And with that they were off. Ettie returned Weasley's hateful look with her most poisonous sneer. He scoffed and glared at Tom instead, who grinned back. Weasley flinched and Ettie snickered. 

"Damn, I love your smile," she sighed. Tom squeezed her hand. 

"Where to?"

Ettie hummed, feeling playful. 

"Astronomy Tower?" she suggested innocently. Tom glanced down at her, a wicked light in his (currently) tawny eyes. 

"As the lady commands."

...

Albus, if he was being honest, knew he should simply kill the girl himself. Quick, peaceful and painless. Perhaps a combination of sleeping draught and essence of belladonna in her evening pumpkin juice. 

But there were ways of tracking potions, methods of uncovering murder that the Aurors had perfected over hundreds of years. Alastor was the very best of them. He would surely find Albus out and he could not risk loosing the support of one of his greatest assets. 

No. Albus would have to be rid of the girl through more...convoluted means. 

The girl, he called her. Albus scoffed quietly to himself, feeling tears burn his eyes. It was his mind's way of distancing himself from the—from Ettie, of protecting himself. Albus didn't deserve that distance. He would not do Ettie such a disservice. 

The Floor chimed and Albus blinked away the tears, pasting on a cheerful facade through decades of practice. Minerva stepped through a moment later and, using her privilege as Headmistress, escorted him back through to Hogwarts. 

"Thank you for doing this," she said as they walked through dark, empty halls. Albus almost flinched. "The Age Line is a delicate piece of magic and you know I've not always been the best at subtlety."

Albus forced a natural-sounding chuckle. 

"It's quite alright, Minerva. You know I'm always happy to help."

Albus made quick work of the Age Line, and even quicker work of depositing the gi—Ettie's name into the Goblet. As he walked away he glanced down at his hands, thinking for a moment that he could already feel the slick red blood that would soon coat them. 

...

So far it had been a week since since the other schools got there and Ettie had nearly been late to class no less than three times because she was too busy snogging Tom in a variety of secret passages, empty classrooms and broom closets. She had never been so grateful for magical lipstick before—no smudges at all. 

"I didn't think you had it in you," Millicent giggled as Ettie slid into the seat beside her just seconds before class started. "Clandestine encounters with a French wizard."

She sighed dreamily and Ettie rolled her eyes. 

"You're ridiculous," she returned, neatly laying out her quill and inkwell beside her parchment. 

But Millie wasn't the only one who was consumed with Ettie's love life. She had girls she'd never spoken coming up to her after class to gossip about boys, asking her about how far they'd gotten, and how she'd bagged such a catch. It was ridiculous. 

What was more, people stopped glaring at her so much in the halls. The subtle hexes tapered off. The rumors about her were almost positive. 

"People are seeing you as a human being, not the demon they made you out to be," Tom had said when she mentioned it. "You're relatable now."

Ettie didn't care why people were suddenly talking to her when a month ago they'd sooner run away or spit in her face. She just wanted it to stop. 

"Short of strangling kittens in the Great Hall, that's not going to happen," Blaise scoffed. "Besides, this is a good thing! You're less likely to get framed again if you have the public on your side."

Which, okay, she would admit that was a perk. So Ettie tolerated the gossip even though she didn't participate, restrained herself from hexing every airhead idiot who asked about her sexual relationships—she made them cry with words instead—and generally did her best to ignore the fact that not everybody hated her anymore. 

"You'd think you would like it better than being a pariah to three quarters of the school," Adrian said, his nose scrunched in confusion. 

Yeah, Ettie didn't get it either. It was probably just because she didn't enjoy human interaction. Hopefully it would blow over soon.

...

"And the Hogwarts Champion is...Harriet Potter?!"

Spoiler alert: it didn't.

...

Ettie stomped into the room where the other Champions were waiting and threw herself at Tom, swearing continuously under her breath. He caught her easily.

"I hate everything," she said darkly. 

"Somehow I think I knew this was going to happen," he sighed. "You really do attract all sorts of trouble, love."

McGonagall swept into the room. Ettie, her face buried in Tom's chest, only knew this because the Headmistress was already demanding of the Tournament organizers that they withdraw Ettie.

"I am afraid that isn't possible," the new Head of International Relations said apologetically. "It's a magically binding contract."

Ettie looked up quickly, still in Tom's arms. McGonagall whirled on the other Heads. 

"Then we must cancel the Tournament itself."

"Preposterous—"

"Minerva, be reasonable—"

"—ze girl knew what she was getting into, surely—"

"—I shall not stand for this—"

"Shut it!" Moody barked. "You're a flock of vultures, the lot of you! Only thinking about what benefits yourselves when there's a life of a child on the line!"

"She's hardly going to die," Karkaroff snapped. "The Tournament is safer now."

Moody bared his teeth and Karkaroff twitched like he wanted to take a step back but was too prideful. 

"Bullshit! Not for a half-trained fourteen year old it's not!"

"Zen she should not 'ave put her name into ze ring," Maxine said, with a small apologetic look towards Ettie, who scowled. Tom's face was so hard it might as well have been made out of marble. 

"And you really think she did?" Moody scoffed. "A little girl, circumventing the wards of one of the most powerful wizards our world has ever seen? No! Somebody is trying to get her killed!"

"Ooh, of course," Karkaroff said mockingly. "Well, forgive me if I do not believe, seeing as Alastor Moody believes the day a failure if he has not uncovered a murder plot by noon!"

Everyone ignored him. 

"Do you really believe zat zomeone ez trying to kill ze girl?" Maxine asked worriedly. 

"Aye," Moody growled, his fake eye spinning in his skull. "I do."

"Zen we cannot allow eet to 'appen," she declared. McGonagall relaxed considerably. 

"I agree," she said strongly. "The Tournament cannot go on."

She glanced between Tom and Krum. "I am sorry for the loss of opportunity, but I'm sure you can see why this is the right decision."

Krum nodded stoically. "Yes. I vould not vant Miss Potter to my hurt so that ve might gain riches."

"Viktor—!" Karkaroff bit out. The two retreated to the corner to have a heated argument in Bulgarian. 

"Her life comes first," Tom said smoothly, glancing down at Ettie with soft, sappy eyes. "Always."

Ettie covertly jabbed his foot with the heel of her boot. He pinched her wrist in return. Ettie's attention was diverted when the wizard who replaced the guy with the moustache coughed. 

"Actually, I'm afraid it's not so simple," he stammered. "You see, as far as the Goblet of Fire is concerned, all three are required to compete, no matter the extentuating circumstances."

McGonagall's nostrils flared. "Then we will amend the Tasks."

"Er, that's not possible either." He flinched when Moody snarled. "Ah! The Tasks have already been approved by the Goblet—"

"If eet ez zentient enough to approve Tasks, zen surely eet ez zentient enough to be reasoned with," Maxine interrupred. "Can we not persuade eet to allow zome leeway?"

"Afraid not, Headmistress," the official said, clutching his hat tightly. "The wizards who enchanted the Goblet were very thorough."

"Is there nothing we can do?" McGonagall demanded. 

"I...I am sorry, but no. Miss Potter will have to compete, and to the best of her ability at that."

Ettie closed her eyes. _Fuck me sideways with a duck._

"Miss Potter!" McGonagall squawked as Tom burst into laughter. 

Ettie blinked. "Oh, did I say that out loud?"

...

Rumors, predictably, blew up the school. Harriet Potter was the Hogwarts Champion! Le gasp! How shocking! 

Ettie, meanwhile, was annoyed but not overly concerned. The Goblet of Fire was one of the books she actually remembered fairly well, and she was confident she could make it through unscathed. Tom, on the other hand, was pissed. Surprisingly, so was Voldemort. 

"Who dares," he spat that night, his anger making the dreamscape shake and tremble. Ettie did her best to ignore the specters of faceless wizards being tortured in the edges of her vision. 

Neither Tom nor Ettie said anything as Voldemort continued to pace and rant. It was no use when he got like this. 

"I'll destroy everything they ever loved," Voldemort whispered. "And kill them so slowly that hell will be a relief."

It might have been touching in a twisted sort of way had Ettie not known that Voldemort didn't really give a damn about her. Just the horcrux nestled into her soul.

"Barty will tutor you every day after classes," Voldemort said when he was done being Dramatic. "You will do whatever is necessary to obtain the details of the Tasks before hand. Tom, you will keep the girl safe at all costs but your own life, understood?"

"Of course," Tom and Ettie murmured simultaneously. Voldemort nodded curtly and vanished from the dream.

...

"Congrats, Boss Lady," Marcus said, clapping her on the shoulder. 

"Go Potter!"

"Hell yeah!" Tracey cheered. "Show those foreigners who's boss!"

"Should we be offended?" Henrik asked Nwaike dryly. Tracey blushed and backpedalled. "I didn't mean—"

"Good on you, milady!"

"How did you get past the Age Line?" Blaise asked more quietly. 

Ettie said nothing, leveling him with a flat look. Blaise narrowed his eyes.

"You didn't put your own name in," he realized. "It's not your style, anyway. So who—?"

"We don't know," Ettie said sourly. "But when I find out I'm going to curse their bits off."

"They deserve worse."

"Oh, that's just the opening act."

...

"You know," Dean said speculatively, "Potter may be the spawn of the devil, but at least with her as Champion Hogwarts has got this in the bag."

Ron rolled his eyes and lazily chucked a shoe in his friend's direction. 

"What? You know it's true!"

"Yeah," Seamus said. "Don't tell me you aren't looking forward to seeing Potter kick the shite out of her snooty French boyfriend."

"And hurl Krum's skinny arse through a wall," Dean added with relish. 

"Not really," Ron said blandly. And it was even true. 

"Are you blind?" Seamus exclaimed. "Mate, I know you hate Potter and all, but even you've got to admit she's grown into one fit bird. It's always fun to see a hottie being a badass."

"Please." Dean smirked. "Ronnie over there has had his eye on Hermione since First Year! He wouldn't see another girl if she danced naked in front of him!"

"Oh ha ha, very funny," Ron scoffed, though he would privately admit that it was...mildly accurate. He rolled off his bed and trudged to the bathroom. "I'm going to take a shower."

As he closed the door, Ron heard Seamus say:

"Hey, whaddya reckon Potter would be like in bed?"

"Probably a regular wildcat," Dean said wisely. "Well, either that or a dirty little slut. Have you seen how much lipstick she wears?"

Ron made a face to himself. He loathed Potter as much as the next person, but there was something discomforting about hearing his bests mates talk about her like she was a piece of meat. She was a piece of work, yeah, but Potter was still a human being. Even she deserved a bit of respect. 

... 

"M-miss Harriet?"

"You talking to me?"

"Y-yes ma'am!"

"What is it, then?"

"Can—can I have your autograph?"

"...What the fuck."

...

There were badges going around the school, subtle things made out of a black metal engraved with her name. That was fine. She didn't care that one of Leviathan got a little overzealous and started making merchandise. No, what freaked Ettie out was just how many people were wearing them. Basically all of Slytherin, a bunch of Hufflepuff, maybe half of Gryffindor and even the younger years of Ravenclaw. 

Like, just, what the hell?! They hated Ettie! Hated her!

Tom thought it was hilarious. The next day all but one of the Beauxbatons students were wearing Thomas Baudelaire badges of a similar design, as well as not a few besotted Hogwarts students. Not to be outdone, there were soon Viktor Krum versions flashing in the halls as well. 

At least it wasn't just her. 

...

Tom was fully prepared for his TriWizard interview, and equally prepared for anything he said to be twisted beyond recognition were it not sensational enough. For this purpose he had devised a plan for Ettie and himself: the romance angle, with a heavy dose of tragic backstory and an undercurrent of drama. He would be delivering the news of the abusive childhood; it would look better coming from him.

In other words, Tom and Ettie were going to gush about one another, talk about how they bonded over being orphans, and mention in an offhand way how Tom had rescued her from her abusive muggle relatives, the same spiel they'd fed to her bloodtraitor godfather and halfbreed uncle. 

"Welcome, Champions!" Skeeter cried as he and Ettie walked into the room, trailed awkwardly by Krum.

"Hello," Tom greeted lightly, Ettie and Krum saying nothing. Krum at least nodded at the reporter, but Ettie's face was sealed into its usual blank mask. 

"How wonderful it is to meet you all! I'm sure you're all dying to get to the individual interviews, but first Mr Ollivander has a little something he has to do. It won't take long, don't worry!"

Fuck. Ollivander. That man never forgot a wand, nor the person it bonded to—

"Indeed," Ollivander said stiffly. Tom stood there, outwardly calm, allowing Ettie and Krum to go first as he frantically tried to come up with a plan. But when it was his turn, the best he had come up with was to go along with it and when Ollivander outed him, he would seal the doors and then he and Ettie would subdue everyone in the room and modify their memories and fuck, that was such a shitty plan—

"And you must be Mr Baudelaire," Ollivander said before stopping short, freezing in place. 

"A pleasure," Tom said smoothly, hoping beyond hope that the wand maker would keep his trap shut. 

"I...yes," Ollivander said slowly, taking the wand that Tom offered. "Yes. Now, let's see here. Aspen and dragon heartstring, thirteen and a half inches...hm, somewhat bendy."

He seemed surprised by that last bit, and Tom supposed he had the right. His original wand had been as unyielding as they came. Ollivander waved his wand and produced a jet of blue flame.

"In fine working condition," he said. "This is an excellent wand. Aspen and dragon heartstring...aspen is the wood of revolutionaries. I am...sure you will do great things with this wand."

Pounding heartbeat calming and marveling at his own rare good luck, Tom inclined his head slightly deeper than was necessary in thanks. 

"And now a picture!" Skeeter cheered. She shooed Ollivander from the room, who seemed more than happy to go.

"The lady in the middle, of course," she said, attempting to grab Ettie's arm, who side stepped it with a look so cold that Skeeter faltered for a split second. "And the gentlemen on either side, if you please. Mr Krum on the left, Mr Baudelaire on the right. How about a smiles, dears?"

Tom complied, as was in the nature of his disguise, but he noticed both Ettie and Krum were just as stone faced as usual, despite the prodding. Still feeling the high of not getting caught earlier and always on the lookout for ways to improve her reputation, Tom reached out and prodded Ettie in the ribs, right where she was the most ticklish. 

"Tommy!" she snapped, but she was already laughing as she twisted in her seat to whack him. Tom fended off her blows with a grin. Cute couple moment complete. 

"How delightful! Bozo, tell me you got the picture!" Skeeter gushed. The photographer nodded enthusiastically.

"Excellent. Now for some individual shots and then onto the interviews! Miss Potter, you first."

Tom lurked behind the camera as Ettie had her picture taken, making eye contact and just...smiling, until she couldn't help the way her own lips twitched up in response. 

Success. 

"At last," Skeeter said when the pictures were all done. "Now onto the interviews! Let's see..."

Her eyes flickered between Tom and Ettie as she tapped the tip of her quill against her chin. 

"Hm. Mr Baudelaire, would you terribly mind going first?"

Tom was mildly surprised, but shook his head with a grin. "Of course not. Lead the way."

...

The headline ran the very next day: Boyfriend Saves Girl-Who-Lived From Violent Muggles. Ettie whacked him with it at breakfast and then stalked away. Tom shook his head and followed. Why that girl was so adverse to anything that made people more inclined to like her was a mystery to him. 

"Ettie," he called. "Love, what's the matter?"

She whipped around. "What's the matter? The fact that you just gave away my sordid past for publicity is the matter, Thomas!"

Tom felt himself bristle. "I did it for you," he snapped back. "Most of the school hates you, in case you haven't noticed!"

"I have noticed and I don't give a shit!" Ettie retorted. "You had no right to do that! It was private!"

"Ettie—" 

But she was already storming away. 

...

Ettie stomped right down to the kitchens, fuming. That asshole! He did it for her, huh? Well she didn't ask him to and if that was his idea of helping then she didn't want it anyway! 

"Missy Potter? Is yous oka—"

"Not really," Ettie said tightly. She stood there, hovering awkwardly in the kitchen as elves bustled around her. Why had she come here, anyway? Why not the Alcove or Chamber?

A tentative hand touched her forearm. Ettie looked down at Tippy, who gazed back with big, determined blue eyes. 

"Yous is sitting," the elf said, directing her to sit at a small table that appeared out of nowhere. "Tippy will be getting you a hot chocolate and you will be telling Tippy what is wrong. Okay?"

Blinking, Ettie let her lips curve up a fraction. "Okay."

Tippy nodded and bustled off. She came back less than a minute later with a steaming cup of hazelnut coco and a plate of breakfast pastries. 

"Eat," Tippy ordered. It was the politest order she'd gotten since Maisie, so Ettie ate. When she'd had her fill, Tippy gave her an expectant look. 

"People hate me," she said abruptly. "And I...don't hate that they do."

It was Tippy's turn to blink. "Yous is liking that the other little witches and wizards is mean to you?"

"I don't like it," Ettie huffed, "I just don't mind it."

"But you is not liking it when they is liking you," Tippy said. Ettie nodded. 

"I is seeing this before," she said gravely. "With elves that are coming from cruel Masters to a place like Hogwarts. They is used to being hated. They is not liking it when the Masters and other elves are kind to them, because they is not trusting it."

"I don't know if this is quite the same," Ettie said. 

"Maybe not," Tippy admitted. "But Tippy will tell you what Dotty told Tippy when Tippy came to Hogwarts: 'It is not mattering how others is seeing you. You is in charge of your own self and it is not your job to be bothering with the opinion of anybody but you.' Of course, Dotty was being a bit...odd, because house elves is not really in charge of our own selves, but Tippy is still thinking it is good advice."

Ettie stopped, and really thought about that. Not the advice part, but the bit about house elves not having control over their own lives. Here she was moaning abot how people liked her too much, when Tippy...Tippy was a slave. 

"Do you want to be?" she asked. 

"Eh?" Tippy tilted her head to the side, ears flopping as she did. 

"Would you want to be in charge of yourself?"

Tippy froze. "Tippy...Tippy is not understanding. Tippy would not want to be free! Tippy likes Hogwarts and her friends and doing the dusting, Missy Potter!"

"No, I mean..." Ettie tried to find the right words. "If you could still work and clean and take care of people, but...like, you decide what you want to do, and do it because of that, not because your Master told you to. Would you?"

Tippy's eyes were huge, and she glanced furtively around. "Missy should not be saying such things! House elves is not meant to be deciding what they do. We is meant to serve!"

"I'm not saying you can't serve," Ettie said patiently, quietly. "You could still do everything you like to do. But nobody would be allowed to hurt you and you wouldn't be forced to punish yourself."

"Please, Missy, you must be stopping," Tippy whispered. "This is not being right!"

But Ettie couldn't just shut up and let it go. How had she never—why hadn't she done anything about this before? This was normalized, legal slavery of sentient beings and she had just...looked away. What a fucking hypocrite she was. 

"Tippy," she said firmly. "Please. Can't you answer my question? I won't tell the other elves, if that's what your worried about."

Tippy wrung her hands together. "Missy will not be dropping this, will she?"

"Not until you answer," Ettie confirmed. 

The elf squeezed her eyes shut, leaned in close, and said: "Yes. Tippy would be liking that very much."

And then she burst into tears and threw herself into Ettie's arms. Ettie folded herself around the little being and silently swore that she wouldn't look away any more. Not one second longer. 

...

To say Tom was surprised when Ettie ambushed him in the middle of a conversation with his Beauxbatons allies was an understatement. He'd thought she would be fuming for days until he reached out and apologized sufficiently. But no. A small clawed hand reached out and snagged him by the tie and before Tom knew it, he was being shoved into an alcove. 

"I'll forgive you," she said unceremoniously, "if you help me lead a house elf revolution."

What.

"What."

"You heard me. I want to free the house elves and I need your help. If you don't I'll probably never talk to you again, so choose wisely."

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose. It was a gesture he had never particularly used before, but he felt the situation warranted it. 

"This would be a huge undertaking," he said. "Years of effort to change a system that has been standing for thousands of years, let alone the mindset engrained into elves and wizards alike."

"You're not saying no," Ettie said, delight slowly dawning on her face. Tom's heart convulsed oddly. That was a...nice expression on her. 

"An entire race of powerful beings indebted to us is a excellent incentive," he said, before she could get any ideas about him being some morally upstanding do-gooder. It wasn't like he empathized with the little beings, stuck under those less powerful than themselves and receiving nothing but scorn when, given a chance, they could rule the world...

Ettie flung her arms around his neck and pulled him into a passionate kiss. 

"You're the best," she whispered against his lips, tasting like chocolate and something fruity. Tom kissed her back. 

"I know."

...

Abused. Harriet Potter, if the Prophet was to be believed, had been abused. Molly wrung her hands together. The poor girl! No wonder she was so standoffish! Oh, and to think she had half-believed what Ronald and the Twins told her about Dark Lords in training and the Chamber of Secrets!

Molly blinked away the threatening tears, squared her shoulders, and marched into the kitchen. She had apology fudge to make. 

...

Acting like she wasn't affected by the news that morning was one of the harder things Hannah had done. Especially when Ron and most of her other friends thought it was pure dragon dung. 

"There's no way," Ron scoffed. "Have you seen her? There's no way the Bitch Queen would let herself be pushed around by muggles. She doesn't even let the teachers tell her what to do!"

Hannah was biting her tongue so hard it might soon draw blood, but she had to keep up appearances. 

"Ron's right," she said, words like ash on her tongue. "Potter is too powerful for muggles to hurt her."

What bullshit. Every person, no matter how powerful, was once small and helpless. Even Ettie Potter. 

...

Filius...Filius didn't know what to think. He had suspected abuse before, but after Miss Potter assaulted Mr Weasley and Miss Abbott, his sympathy for her shriveled to nothing. Abuse did not excuse actions like those. 

But now he was seeing a different side of her, one he though she wasn't capable of possessing. Filius could tell she genuinely cared for that boyfriend of hers, and it was like he had been looking through fogged glass and only now could he see her clearly. 

Miss Potter was indeed hard, cold and sometimes cruel. But she was also...kind, in her own grumpy way. Filius did not regret removing her from Ravenclaw—he had done that before he foolishly wrote her off as a lost cause. No, that was clearly the right decision. The girl thrived in Slytherin. But he did regret the way he had treated her.

Filius wished he could apologize, but he knew Miss Potter would only see it as pity and hate him more. So he would have to show her through actions instead. 

...

Hermione wasn't sure what do do with the fact that she had all but encouraged her mentor and Headmaster to sacrifice the life of an innocent person. Logically and pragmatically, it was the right decision. Needs of the many and all that.

But on the other hand, a few days ago Professor Dumbledore returned from his appointment at Hogwarts looking drawn and grim and Hermione was afraid he'd done something terrible. When their lessons took a subtle but abrupt turn into what felt more like Auror-training than schooling, she thought she was right to be afraid. When Harriet Potter, all of fourteen years old, was selected as a TriWizard Champion, she knew it without a doubt. 

Something was going to happen, something big and bad enough to cause the greatest wizard in the world to condemn an innocent to death.

...

Between plotting a slave rebellion, helping Tom brainstorm ways to take over the economy, training with the Death Eater Professors, and keeping her straight Os across the board, Ettie was so busy it felt like she blinked and then the First Task was there. 

Dragons, right? 

Maxine went on a date with Hagrid and, long story short, yes. It was dragons. Which meant that Ettie needed a really good plan...

...

"—Baudelaire knocks his dragon unconscious with an unknown spell—its going to fall on the nest—! Nice save! Baudelaire moves the nest with a well timed summoning spell, saving the eggs!"

In the Champions Tent, waiting her turn with Krum, Ettie paused and tilted her head. Summoning charm. Had they really not warded the nest against that?

A quick glance at Krum showed he wasn't paying a lick of attention to the commentator. Ettie allowed herself a smirk as she discarded her plans involving her Invisibility Cloak and several varied stealth charms. She had this in the bag. 

Krum went next, failing spectacularly to protect the real dragon eggs even as he got the golden egg with only a broken arm, and then it was Ettie's turn. She strode out confidently and sized up the massive Chinese Fireball as it curled protectively around its unborn babies. 

"Accio," she murmured, focusing on the entirety of the nest. Sure enough, it soaeed through the air, over the coils of the dragon and towards Ettie. She reached out her hand and grabbed the golden egg—

—the dragon roared, chains shattered, and Ettie screamed as her vision was consumed by a burst of dragon fire.

...

Sirius bolted to his feet as the chains holding the Fireball snapped and the class XXXXX creature lunged for his goddaughter, fire billowing from its jaws.

"HARRY!"

But the smoke cleared and his little Bambi was still there, her right arm blackened and raw, clothes aflame. She fell into a roll as the dragon struck like a snake, fangs sinking into dirt where Harry had been moment earlier. 

Sirius was running, pounding down the stairs towards the Arena with Moony hot on his heels. The Dragon Handlers sprung into motion far too late and subdued the beast. Sirius ran straight into the wards around the enclosure and immediately changed direction, sprinting towards the medic tent instead. 

Harry had to be okay. She had to be. Sirius didn't know what he would do otherwise. 

...

Ettie would be fine. She had the bloody Elixir of Life coursing through her veins! There was no need for anybody to panic, least of all Tom, who actually knew she would be alright. 

That being said, Tom was panicking. 

"Out of the way," Madame Pomfrey barked at Black and Lupin as she charged towards Ettie, carried inside by one of the utterly incompetent dragon wranglers. Tom struggled upright, ignoring the searing pain in his own arm. 

The Healer's wand flew over the blackened mess of flesh. She flicked her wand and the ruined skin sloughed off to reveal pink, healthy new skin. 

"Damn, Poppy," Black said. "You—you really got good."

"I didn't heal her yet," she said blankly. "I didn't do anything."

"But....dragon fire doesn't just heal without a scar," Lupin murmured, "it's not possible."

"It's not the first time she's the impossible," Tom said. "Maybe it's habit by now."

Black huffed a half-hearted laugh at his half-hearted joke. "Yeah, maybe. Either way, I'm just glad she's okay."

Ettie stirred on the bed and Tom's attention snapped back to her. Groggy, beautiful eyes blinked open, split pupiled and vibrant. Her pink lips parted slightly, for once not painted black. In the moments of awakeness before awareness, Ettie had never looked so lovely, almost pure—

"What the damn fucking hell was that?"

—until she opened her mouth, of course. 

"Harry!" the bloodtraitors cried, sweeping her into their arms in an impressive show of synchrony. She gave him an inquisitive look over their shoulders. 

"Chains broke," Tom said succinctly. "Dragon pissed."

"But how am I not a pile of ash?"

"I think you should be the one telling us that," Pomfrey said shakily. "Miss Potter, I have never seen someone heal so fast or so cleanly, not even from a nonmagical wound."

"...Okay?" 

"So how did you do it?" Pomfrey fairly demanded. Tom's hackles rose at her tone, as if Ettie had committed some sort of crime simply by healing quickly. Apparently hearing the same thing, Black pulled back and gave the Healer a look.

"I don't know," Ettie snapped.

"But—!"

"Poppy, she said she doesn't know," Black said firmly. "Let it be."

"I cannot!" she said shrilly. "As a Healer, it is my duty to figure out what spell or potion the girl used so that it can be made accessible to others!"

"I didn't use a potion or a spell or anything else you might come up with," Ettie said. Lupin had pulled back now too, frowning at Pomfrey. 

"I doubt that very much—"

"My goddaughter is not a liar," Black hissed, shooting to his feet. "She is a young girl who almost died! I expected better of you, Poppy!"

The Healer looked shocked, then ashamed. She swallowed but drew herself up, looking directly at Ettie.

"I apologize for my conduct, Miss Potter," she said softly. "Do you have any idea how your wounds were healed so quickly?"

Ettie looked the Healer right in the eye and lied. "No. If I did, I already would have shared it."

And that was that.

Or, not quite. The next day, the front page of the Daily Prophet read: Girl-Who-Lived Survives Dragon Fire Without A Mark!

Which, of course, spawned a whole new class of rumors about invincibility, superpowers, and goddesses. Tom thought it was hilarious. Ettie, not so much. 

...

Ron scowled into his pumpkin juice. Potter had some sort of ability to heal and bounce back from things that should have killed her. That wasn't good. 

Not that Ron was planning on killing her! Of course not! He didn't even plan on hurting her, not if he could help it anyway. But with the way Hermione said DAM was being trained like soldiers, coupled with the mass prison break and a whole load of mysterious disappearances, Ron was sure something bad was coming. And he doubted Potter would be on his side when it did. 

...

It was not until she watched three Champions in a row be carted off to the healing tents sporting various burns and broken bones that Fleur decided Baudelaire being chosen in her stead wasn't such a bad thing after all. She knew the Tasks would be challenging, but she never expected dragons! And these fools claimed the Tasks were safe! 

Fleur felt for the little Hogwarts girl more than she thought she would. Only fourteen and bound to complete in such a deadly tournament. It did not matter whether or not Potter had truly put her name into the Goblet—she was stuck either way.

Of course, she couldn't feel too bad for her. Potter was the undisputed Queen of her school, for all there were pockets that seemed alarmingly against her. Fleur would admit to some jealousy in that regard. 

She should have been the Queen of Beauxbatons. She was until Baudelaire came along and shattered all her illusions about her own self. Fleur knew her Allure influenced even the people unattracted to her, naturally, but she had not known how deep it went. That all her friends, when freed from it, found that they no longer wanted her around because...

Because Fleur was not particularly charming. She was not very nice or at all gentle. She was sharp, intelligent and abrasive and it was only her Allure that won her the following she had. Without it, Fleur could not hope to gain allies.

That was what she though until she saw Harriet Potter. Cold, hard, with jagged edges and an aura so off-putting that it could have only been done on purpose. And yet people still followed her. Respected her. Even liked her. All her life Fleur had thought that the only way for witches to gain power was by being soft and welcoming, drawing in flies with honey and sugared words. 

Apparently not. 

Fleur let a smile curve her mouth. Unlike most of her smiles, this one was not meant to be lovely. She surveyed her reflection in a suit of armor, smile widening. She looked terrifying—terrifying and yet beautiful. 

Perfect. 

...

George wasn't so sure that Harriet Potter was as evil as Queen's Gambit made her out to be. At first, sure, she acted like a right psychopath. But then she got friends, friends she actually stuck up for and helped out. 

Okay, George had thought, so what? Anybody can act nice to get people to do what they want. 

Except Potter wasn't nice, not even to her friends. She was still a total bitch, she just came off as a total bitch who cared. And that confused George. Then Thomas Baudelaire showed up, with his Weasley-red hair and eyes that looked just like Ginny's and bam!

Suddenly Potter wasn't just a total bitch who cared for her underlings, she was a sort-of bitch who adored her boyfriend. And evil people couldn't love. Maybe she was still Dark, but she wasn't evil. Not with the way she looked at Baudelaire, like he was the only thing that got her out of bed in the morning. 

...

Step one of the House Elf Revolution was getting actual house elves on board. Ettie had Tom summon Dobby to the Hogwarts kitchens to give a speech about the wonders of being free. Minus the part about being paid, of course. Ettie had consulted Tippy, and came to the conclusion that pay was still too much at this point. 

"—so much better than having Masters!" Dobby was saying passionately. "To be free is having all the perks of being an elf with none of the drawbacks! We is cleaning and cooking and taking care of our wizards as much as we is wanting, but nobody is being able to make us shut our ears in the oven or iron our hands!"

He paused and looked around his whispering, wide eyed audience. 

"Dobby knows this is all sounding very scary," he said softly, going off script. Tom twitched beside her and Ettie gave his hand a squeeze. "And that's because it is being scary. Change always is. But that is not making it bad!"

Dobby's eyes were teary with the force of his passion now, even as he seemed at a loss for words. His mouth worked silently. Tom swore softly—they were losing the crowd. 

Then Tippy stepped up onto the table next to Dobby. She was shaking like a leaf and already sniffling. 

"Tippy is not being as good at this as Dobby," she began unsteadily. "And Tippy is not knowing about freedom the way he is. But—but Tippy is thinking...no. I is thinking that—that house elves are deserving to say 'I' and not be beaten for burning the sausage and take breaks when they is having babies!"

The crowd gasped as one. Tippy was crying now. Dobby took her hand. 

"Dobby is right," she squeaked. "It is being very scary. But Ti—but I is thinking it is worth it! That—that's all."

An elderly elf stepped up next, her skin hanging in folds as she glared across the gathered elves. 

"I is agreeing," she said strongly, her voice shockingly deep for an elf. "Elves are not being worthless. We is important! We is worthy of owning ourselves!"

A tiny little thing with huge ears tottered up after her. He shyly took Dobby's hand. "I—I is Nibby. I is new here, but—I is believing in what they say. I is missing my mami and papi. I was being sold to Hogwarts when I was only a toddling. I is wishing that I could being staying with them longer."

Then came a squat elf, then one with a missing eye, on and on until there were over a dozen elves standing on the table, all holding hands. 

"But how is this working?" one voice piped up nervously. "How would we be getting f-freedom?"

Ettie stepped forward. 

"That's what we're having this meeting to determine," she said. "Tom and I may be helping with the movement, but it's meant for you guys, so you should be calling the shots. But we do have a few ideas if you want to hear them."

"Er....yes, please?" 

Tom took the reins then. "Due to the nature of your enslavement, the typical methods of protest aren't really going to work here. Instead, we should work on spreading the word among both elves and wizards that change is coming. We're going to need to gather as much support as we can, in any way that we can."

"Dob—I is calling together freed elves from all over the country," Dobby said. "We is going to protest at the Ministry of Magic so that people can be learning about the Revolution!"

"And my friend Luna's father is going to do a newspaper article on it," Ettie added. 

"We are informing all our friends and allies as well," Tom said smoothly. "And they will pass it on to theirs, and so on. So? What do you all think?"

There was an uneasy silence as the elves shifted and looked around. Then a shrill voice cried, "Freedom! Freedom for elves!"

"Freedom for elves!" Dobby echoed. "Freedom for elves! Freedom for elves!"

The chant caught on quickly. Ettie and Tom both joined in, yelling their intentions to the skies. It was perhaps not the most Slytherin approach to rebellion, but you know what? Ettie really didn't care. 

...

Voldemort resisted the urge to snarl as he dismissed Lucius. Of all the things he thought his horcruxes might get up to, a crusade to free the house elves was not one of them. The boy's quest to take over the British Wizarding economy was one thing, but this? This could actively undermine the support of the Purebloods!

"What should we do, my Lord?" Bellatrix asked softly. 

"I will speak with them," Voldemort hissed. "They will know the error of their ways."

"Very well, my Lord."

...

When their shared dream darkened and twisted, Tom and Ettie were ready. They knew Voldemort would be coming to confront them and had planned accordingly. 

"Explain," he demanded. Tom bowed and stepped forward, heart beating a little too quickly. 

"It's a ploy," he said, "to gain the sympathy of Dumbledore's cronies, as well as the allegiance of the elves. They have a wealth of information on their Masters that could be invaluable to keeping the elite in line."

Voldemort sneered. "I don't care. You will cease immediately."

Fuck. Tom opened his mouth to try and persuade him. 

"No," Ettie said. Double fuck. "No, we won't. Elves are some of the most powerful magical creatures there are. We could have a veritable army of hyper-loyal soldiers, soldiers that nobody would ever suspect."

"House elves? Powerful?" Voldemort actually laughed. "My, Ettie, and I thought you were a better liar than this."

"It was a house elf who stole the locket," Ettie said coldly. Voldemort froze. 

"What?"

"I spoke to him over the summer," Ettie admitted easily, as if that weren't something that could get her killed. Tom's heart was beating so hard he half thought it would wake him up. "He told me all about it. The elf you used to test the potion? That was him. Only he popped right through your wards and back to his Master."

~Where is it?~ Voldemort hissed. _~Where?!~_

"...Gone," Ettie said softly, and for the first time a hint of fear crept into her voice. "He destroyed it over a decade ago."

Voldemort let out a scream of fury. The dreamscape roiled, twisted, broke, and then next thing he knew, Tom was waking up in the Beauxbatons carriage, sweating and shaking. 

"Bloody hell," he whispered to himself. 

...

Ettie woke up panting. She bolted upright and went straight to the bathroom, where she splashed water on her face and stared at the mirror. She began to laugh. 

"I'm insane," she giggled. She couldn't believe she'd sold Kreacher out like that, but then, the old elf had told her himself that he wouldn't live more than a few more years. And if he just stayed in Grimmauld Place like he always did, he would be fine. 

Hopefully that would be enough to convince Voldemort of the use of house elves...if he didn't decide to just slaughter the lot of them. Shit. She hadn't thought about that. But no—that would alienate the elite far more than her and Tom freeing them would. 

Ettie straightened and returned to her room, only to run straight into Tom. 

"What the hell were you thinking?" he snarled, showing her hard. "You idiot! Do you have any idea what Voldemort is going to do to you?"

Ettie shoved Tom right back. "Back off!"

"No! What is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with you?" she retorted. 

"He's going to kill you, Ettie, that's what's wrong with me," he yelled. "For fuck's sake! Grow a brain, won't you?"

"He's not going to kill me," Ettie said, her heart softening a little at Tom's obvious fear. 

"And how do you know that?" Tom snapped. 

"I've Seen it," she explained. And she really had. Tea leaves didn't lie...much. 

Tom deflated. "Still. You can't just bait a Dark Lord, Ettie. It's going to end up with you in two different pieces at the least."

"If it helped the elves, it was worth it."

Tom shook his head. "They're not worth your _life_."

"Actually, they are." Tom looked up sharply. "But if it comes down to it, I won't die for them. I'm too selfish for that."

He exhaled and tugged her close. "Good."

...

With all the shit she had going on, Ettie thought she could be excused for forgetting about the Yule Ball until the night before. Thankfully she already had a badass winter look lined up (thanks Henrik) and plenty of girls willing to help her with her insane mess of hair. 

The first step was soaking it in Sleakeazy, the potion her grandfather invented with Potter-level wildness in mind. Then, after her hair fell in loose waves instead of tangled ringlets, Cecilia and Millicent twisted it up into something voluminous and beautiful dotted with real charmed snowflakes. She ditched her customary black lipstick for a frosty silver-blue, dusted her eyelashes white, and used a faint blue highlight to complete it all. 

Then came the dress. Now, Ettie usually only wore black with the occasional dark green, but the dress Henrik made her was a blue so pale it looked almost white in some places. It was floaty and huge and ridiculous and absolutely perfect. Ettie felt like a winter fairy.

She exited her room and met up with the rest of her Inner Circle, all of them dressed to match the theme Ettie set. 

Tom was waiting just outside the common room. Ettie felt a smile come to her lips. He wore a dark blue robe that flashed silver in the light and frost dusted his own hair and shoulders, snow flakes catching in his eyelashes. 

"Milady," he greeted with a playful little bow. 

"Milordy," she replied, curtsying. Tom grinned as he offered his arm. They walked together in comfortable silence as their allies' soft chatter washed over them. 

When they reached the Great Hall, Tom and Ettie broke off from the group and went to join Krum and his date, a Ravenclaw that shrunk from Ettie like she was the devil. 

"Good evening," Tom said politely. Krum nodded and the Ravenclaw mumbled something back. They ignored each other after that. When the time came for the Champions to open the dance, Ettie blew out a deep breath and kept her eyes locked on Tom's face. 

"I hate people," she said conversationally as he twirled her. 

"No," Tom said, "you just hate them looking at you. Don't worry; it'll all be over soon."

"That wasn't ominous at all," Ettie laughed, successfully completing the little skip-hop step of the dance. 

"But it made you laugh," Tom retorted. 

"You always make me laugh," Ettie said sweetly. "I can't help it, you just have that kind of face."

Tom dipped her far lower than they'd practiced in revenge, and Ettie would forever deny that she squeaked. She 'accidentally' stepped on his foot in retaliation.

"Is that any way to treat your date?" Tom demanded, pinching her waist.

"You started it," she said, squeezing the bones in his hand together.

By the time the song had ended, Ettie and Tom were both laughing breathlessly and more than a little sore. They retreated to a side table to get out of the spotlight as the rest of the room poured into the dance floor. 

"You know, I can't decide if we're sadists or masochists or both," Ettie commented, rubbing her skin where Tom's nails had left little grooves. 

"Likely a little of both," Tom said, massaging the sensitive flesh between his thumb and forefinger. "But really, how else are we to survive parties?"

"I would have thought you liked parties," she said. "Lots of opportunity to network."

"Well yes," Tom said, "but this isn't really that sort of event. This is just sheer frivolity, for nothing but the sake of vanity. It's rather pathetic."

Ettie drew him down into a kiss. 

"What was that for?"

"I kind of love it when you insult humanity," Ettie admitted easily. "It's hot."

Tom snorted. "You're ridiculous. Want to get out of here?"

"Naturally," said Ettie, who might have enjoyed getting dressed up but still loathed being the center of attention. And people were still staring at them, as if they didn't have anything better to do.

Tom took her hand and led her out of the Great Hall and up to the Astronomy Tower. It was unoccupied this early in the evening, but she doubted it would stay that way, so she and Tom both set up a few wards to keep the hectic hordes of hormonal teenagers away. 

To her surprise, Tom took her straight out onto the balcony where a thick fur blanket had been laid across the stones and the snow dissapated over head. They sat down, perfectly warm despite the crisp air, and Tom pulled a bottle of firewhiskey out of nowhere.

"Ooh, are we going to get drunk?" 

Tom rolled his eyes. "Excessive drinking is the height of foolishness."

Ettie snagged the bottle, opened it, and took a swig. Spicy warmth filled her insides and her next breath sent sparks drifting into the sky. 

"I notice you never denied it."

Tom stole the bottle back and took a drink of his own. "I've never gotten drunk before. I don't plan on doing it often, but what's the harm just this once?"

"Possibly quite a lot," Ettie said, exhaling a thin stream of fire and giggling at the sensation. Tom blew little rings of fire and looked quite pleased with himself. 

"Maybe. But I...think I will trust you." 

Ettie blinked in shock. She liked Tom, a lot. But she had never once fooled herself into thinking he trusted her half as much as she had grown to trust him. And she didn't even trust him completely!

"Not implicitly, of course," Tom continued quickly. "Not that I don't enjoy your company—"

"I get it," she interrupted. "I don't trust you implicitly either."

Tom took another sip. "Good. You shouldn't trust me."

"And why is that?" Ettie wondered. 

"Because I'd still sell you out to save myself, if it came to that."

He was studying her closely out of the corner of his eye, as if waiting for her to yell at him or be all hurt. She wasn't; Ettie had already known that. 

"I'd sell you out too."

But Tom shook his head. "No, I don't think you would. I've said it before, but you're much more of a Gryffindor than you believe yourself to be."

"Bullshit," Ettie scoffed, taking a long pull of the whiskey. "I'm not some self-sacrificing martyr, Tommy. My self-preservation instincts are entirely too strong."

Tom laughed, and it wasn't a nice laugh. "Oh love, false humility doesn't suit you."

"Shut up," Ettie snapped. "And what the hell are you doing, anyway? You make a nice picnic, bring the booze, and then start talking about romantic things like how you'd sell me out and that I'm some poser—"

"I _don't know_ ," Tom hissed. "I don't—I wasn't planning on—"

"On insulting us both as soon as you got drunk?"

Tom snarled. "On caring about you, stupid girl! I wasn't planning on caring about you! I kissed you because I wanted to, and I played boyfriend because that's what you wanted, whether you said it or not, and it was a good way to influence you! But then comes Voldemort and the stupid fucking house elves and suddenly I'm scared! Scared of losing you, not because you're a valuable player or because you're a horcrux or—or anything logical, but because you're _Ettie!_ "

Tom had sprung to his feet and was pacing, cheeks flushed and eyes flashing. He glared at her like it was her fault that he screwed up and contracted actual feelings. Maybe it was. 

"Well?" he demanded. 

"Well what?" Ettie retorted. "What the hell am I supposed to say to that?"

"That you hate me," Tom said instantly. 

Ettie stared. 

"Why the fuck would I hate you for admitting you have squishy feelings for me?"

"Wh—because I said I did it to manipulate you!"

"Notice the past tense, Riddle? And do you really think the though didn't cross my mind that I could do the same to you? You may call me a Gryffindor, but I'm still a snake, dammit!"

Tom let out an incredulous laugh. 

"You're unbelievable."

"Well you're not exactly all sane and reasonable yourself!" she sneered. 

Tom threw himself back down on the blanket and just stared at her. Ettie puffed her cheeks up mockingly and glared right back. 

"Merlin's balls," he cursed, rubbing both hands through his carefully styled hair. 

"What _now?_ "

Tom leaned forward and kissed her hard. Ettie dug her own fingers into his hair and tugged him closer. After that there wasn't much talking. 

...

Hermione found herself standing in front of Headmaster Dumbledore's office, feeling like she was in trouble even though she'd done nothing wrong. She shook the feeling off and raised her hand to knock. 

"Come in," Dumbledore called. Hermione opened the door and stepped inside. The first thing she noticed was that the Professor looked even more tired than usual. The second was that a massive parchment full of runes was sprawled across the floor. 

"Hello, sir."

He smiled cheerfully, belied by the deep shadows under his eyes and waxy cast to his skin. "You must be wondering why I called you here."

"Er, yes sir," she said. 

"Well, you are here because you have proven that you excell in creating spells out of runic configurations, a rare talent indeed, one I never got the knack of myself. I have a project that I would appreciate your help with."

Hermione frowned. She was _not_ better at rune translation than Albus Dumbledore. He was an _alchemist!_ But he looked at her evenly, happily, and Hermione swallowed the protest that rose to her lips. 

"Where do we start?"

...

Tom's little outburst gave Ettie a lot to think about. She was glad he'd gotten it off his chest and even more glad that he seemed to genuinely care about her. She had to admit, Ettie had been doubtful at first that their relationship was authentic. She might have been an idiot but she wasn't stupid. 

Tom had said it himself: they looked after themselves first, a chosen few second, and everybody else never. Tom had climbed to her chosen few the second he agreed to help her with the Philosopher's Stone thing.

But when had she squirmed her way into his chosen? And _how?_ Again, Ettie wasn't stupid. She knew she was abrasive, rude, difficult in every way and probably the only reason her coven stuck around was because she had power. 

Tom didn't need her power because he had his own. He hardly needed her protection either. Her fame and influence had long since been diminished by her own bad attitude. Ettie had nothing to offer but herself and that had never been enough. Not for anyone except Maisie, and Tom was no Maisie. 

So why did he care?

...

"Do we need to teach Baudelaire a lesson?"

Ettie looked up to see Blaise flanked by Millie and Marcus, all of them looking grim. 

"No," she said. "It's a personal matter."

"But he hurt you," Blaise said tightly. Ettie smirked humorlessly. 

"It doesn't matter. Leave him be, Blaise."

He hesitated, eyes searching her's. Finally he nodded. 

"As the lady wishes."

...

Tom didn't know what was wrong with him. He had never been so torn up about a girl before. Actually he'd never been torn up about a girl, _period_. But there was just something about Ettie. He wished he could say he only cared because of the horcrux but that would be a dirty lie. If there was one person Tom didn't lie to, it was himself. 

And maybe Ettie. 

But wasn't that the problem? He could lie to everyone else but not her! It was infuriating! Despite himself, Tom had grown to care. 

Now he needed to figure out if it was going to make him weak like most wizards, or strong like Ettie. 

...

A week and two days after their fight (could it even be called a fight if they made out after?), Ettie confronted Tom.

"You're ignoring me," she said, cornering him in the library. To his credit, he didn't deny it.

"I needed to think."

"Well are you done?" she huffed. Tom smiled and she relaxed because it was his honest smile...which got less and less ugly the more she looked at it. She wasn't going to dwell on why. 

"Yeah, I'm done."

"Good." And then she kissed him, because she'd missed being able to do that. Tom put one hand on her waist and sank the other into the curls at the base of her skull. She pressed closer and then Tom ruined the moment by smiling against her mouth like a sap. 

"What's so funny?" Ettie said, pulling away. 

"I never thought I would be in an genuine relationship with anyone. But here I am, snogging a pretty girl in the Library like all the idiots I used to disdain."

Ettie smirked and pulled him down for another kiss.

...

The Second Task came in the dead of winter, when all Ettie wanted to do was curl up with a book of deadly curses and some hot chocolate. Instead she found herself in swimming gear staring down at the Black Lake, waiting for the cannon to go off.

And go off it did. Ettie cast her spells and dove into the water. The cold overwhelmed her senses even through the warming charms. Ettie closed her eyes and began swimming in the direction of Blaise's Mark. It wasn't long before she reached an underwater city with long stone buildings and little gardens of kelp or seaweed or whatever. 

Merpeople stared at her with yellow eyes as Ettie swam through the 'streets' towards where she could see the hostages floating, all tied down. She kept her wand out, even if it made it harder to swim. She didn't trust the look in those eyes. 

Francis Chastain for Tom, Krum's Yule Ball date, and of course, Blaise. Ettie raised her wand—

—and screamed as pain exploded across her core. She looked down to see three prongs of metal sticking out of her chest, up to see Tom's terrified expression. Then everything went dark.

...

Tom got there just in time to be able to do nothing about it. The mermaid shot from the gloom, trident in hand, and thrust it through Ettie from behind. Tom's scream harmonized with hers. 

The mermaid pulled the trident out, blood clouding the water, and Tom's vision tunneled. He thrust his wand towards her.

"Avada Kedavra!"

A flash of green and the mermaid floated as still and lifeless as Ettie. Tom propelled himself forward, hoping beyond hope that she would be alright—the Elixir would have to be enough—he grasped her shoulders and pulled Ettie upright.

Tom waved his wand across the stab wounds, spells pouring from his lips faster than he had ever cast. Healing, diagnostic, a charm to kill harmful bacteria. Anything he could think of to help the Elixir do its job. 

It worked. Ettie's beautiful green eyes fluttered open, blinking at him through the film of the bubble-head charm. 

"The fuck?" she sputtered, touching the holes in her swimsuit. 

Tom crushed his foul-mouthed girlfriend to his chest. "You're okay. You're alright."

Ettie wrapped her arms around him in turn, never one to turn down physical contact. She felt as warm as she could be at the bottom of a lake in February. 

"Let's get out of here."

"Great idea," Ettie agreed, sounding a little dazed. Blood loss? Shock? Tom cast a few more spells. When he was satisfied, they gathered their hostages and booked it back to the surface. 

...

Remus had thought Sirius was being paranoid when he hypothesized that someone was trying to kill Harry with the Tournament. Now, when he saw her stabbed in the back? Now he believed it. 

Thank Merlin and Morgana for Tom. His quick reactions saved their pup's life. Remus didn't even care that a seventeen year old boy had used the Killing Curse. It was only illegal to use on witches and wizards, and anyone could see it was a life or death situation he was in. As for mustering the necessary hate, Remus could easily have cast the Unforgivable himself were that mermaid in front of him right now. 

The crowd was screaming around them, staring with horror at the screen of mist hovering over the water, showing everything that happened to the three Champions. Remus ran down the stands with Sirius and Harry's friends, the sheer number of them nearly creating a stampede.

Heads breached the surface of the lake, Tom and Harry and their hostages. Sirius lunged forward and threw himself into the lake before Remus could stop him. Hell, it was all Remus could do not to _join_ him.

Sirius scooped Harry against his chest and used a spell to propel them out of the water. Poppy descended on her at once, whisking her into the medical tent and forbidding anyone from entering. Remus turned to Tom.

"Thank you," he said hoarsely, giving into the urge to pull the boy into a hug. Remus frowned when Tom flinched as if he'd never been hugged before. The bewildered expression he tried to hide when Remus released him solidified the impression. Odd. Harry hugged her boyfriend all the time. 

Sirius stumbled over and yanked Tom into a tight embrace as well. Remus' heart squeezed and a smile found its way to his lips. That was the way Sirius hugged the people closest to him, the ones he would do just about anything for. Tom, it seemed, was officially part of their rag-tag little family. 

...

Ettie wasn't sure what to make of her nearest should-have-been-fatal experience. Should she have been scared? Angry? Wanting revenge? All she felt was tired, with a hint of something she didn't know how to identify. 

Pomfrey had cleared her as perfectly healthy and allowed Ettie out of the makeshift hospital. She was sitting with Tom, Sirius and Remus as they waited for the Aurors to come take their statements. Her coven had been shooed away with the rest of the students.

"We'll find them," Tom murmured to her as the Aurors levitated the assassin's limp body out of the water. "And they'll pay."

"You'll be okay, Bambi," Sirius said, wrapping her more firmly in the blanket Pomfrey had provided. 

"Right," Ettie said to both of them. 

Who was trying to kill her this time? Voldemort fanatics? Overzealous light siders? Ron Weasley's sycophants? Nah, Hannah would have told her if it was them. But any of the others were fair game. 

"Miss Potter? My name is Kingsley Shacklebolt," a dark skinned Auror said, approaching. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired."

He nodded sympatheticly. "I'm sure. I'll try to keep this short, then. Do you have any idea who might be trying to kill you?"

Well, that was blunt. 

"The escaped Death Eaters, probably," Ettie lied. "Don't know about anyone else."

"Alright. That's what we thought too, but it's always good to check." He turned to Tom, friendly expression firming. "As for you, young man, I'm here to issue you a warning. The use of an Unforgivable is only punishable against humans, but I would advise you not to make a habit of it. Azkaban is still plenty secure and I would hate to see talent like yours wasted."

Tom ducked his head but Sirius stood up, moving between the two and forcing Shacklebolt to take a step back. 

"Hold on, Kingsley," he said. "This boy just saved my goddaughter's life! There's no need for threats."

The Auror blinked. "Of course, my apologies. I only wanted to impress the severity of the situation on Mr Baudelaire."

"Well consider him impressed," Sirius said, voice just shy of cold. Shacklebolt looked surprised but he nodded and left it at that. 

"The nerve," Sirius muttered to himself, turning and absently adjusting the blanket around Tom's shoulders. "I thought better of him." 

Ettie hid a smile. It seemed like Padfoot had officially adopted Tom, who looked politely baffled at the sudden attention. She reached out and squeezed his hand. 

"We should get you kids back to the castle," Remus said. 

...

"Do you think Potter's immortal?" Dean asked Ron quietly. Ron, who knew no more about the situation than his friend did, just shook his head. 

"Who knows, mate. We better hope not, for our own sakes."

Dean shuddered. "Imagine that bitch being around forever."

"She won't be," Ron said confidently. "Immortal or not, she'll be taken care of."

Seamus say up and looked at him. "You know something."

Too late, Ron realized what he'd let slip. Bloody hell, Hermione was going to kill him. 

"I know lots of things," Ron said evasively. 

"Don't bullshit us," Dean retorted. "Come on mate, spit it out."

"I can't. I promised I'd keep my mouth shut," he said. They exchanged looks and leaned in closer.

"Ron. We know how to keep a secret, you know that. You can trust us."

"I don't even know anything for sure, but...I guess I can ask," Ron said reluctantly. They nodded and each clapped him on the shoulder. 

...

Hermione scowled at Ron's latest letter. She had only hinted that Professor Dumbledore was preparing to, er, eliminate Harriet Potter because it was too sensitive to put in writing, even encrypted! And then he comes out and asks her! Honestly. 

"Something bothering you, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore asked. Hermione looked up.

"Sorry, sir. Ron just...well," she hesitated. "Nevermind. Ron's being Ron, I suppose. What was it you said about the mirroring effect last time?"

He eyed her quietly. 

"Actually, my dear, I think the time has come that I tell you the reason behind what we have been doing. I'm sure you have put together much of it, but to avoid any...misunderstandings, I would like to tell you myself, in full."

Hermione found herself paying rapt attention. "Alright, sir."

Dumbledore smiled, but there was something tremulous about it. Heartache lurked behind his eyes. 

"Lord Voldemort," he said simply, "has returned."

Hermione dropped her quill.

...

In the remaining months before the Third Task and end of the school year, Ettie and Tom made the House Elf Revolution their main priority, with Tom's economic world domination taking secondary precedence. This endeavor was made much easier by the fact that Tom had blackmailed one Rita Skeeter into taking point on publicity. 

"Two options," he'd said in his velvety smooth voice. "Either you do what I tell you, or you find yourself rotting in Azkaban. Or I could squash you, I suppose. You are a bug, after all."

Rita nearly pissed herself. So had Ettie, but that's because she was laughing so hard. And so suddenly the House Elf movement was on the front page, support was pouring in from Muggleborns and Half-bloods and even the more progressive Purebloods. Plenty of opposition came up too, but Rome wasn't built in a day and all that jazz. They'd get there. 

Strangely enough, though, Voldemort had remained silent on the matter. He showed up in her dream to grill her for every detail about how Regulus Black stole the locket, tortured her enough that she spent two days in the Hospital Wing, and then...nothing. Ettie suspected he was too busy reinforcing the safety of his other horcruxes, the inanimate ones. 

Well, whatever it was, Ettie was just glad he was staying out of the Revolution. 

...

"Missy Potter?"

"Yeah, Tip?"

"You is being a good friend. You too, Mr Tommy."

"Thank you, Tippy."

"You're a good friend too."

...

Now, the thing about the Revolution was that it drew attention. That was kind of the point. But Ettie hated attention, and the heaps of it she got for being the Girl-Who-Lived, Hogwarts Champion, _and_ 'Savior of Elves'? She was drowning in it. Everybody in Hogwarts had something to say to her, even Ron Weasley. 

"Don't think for one second that I believe you're a good person for this," he hissed to her as she walked into Charms. "If you're trying to trick us—"

"It's got nothing to do with you," she sneered. "Not that most things do."

"That's enough Mr Weasley, Miss Potter," Flickwick chided. "Take your seats."

Weasley wasn't the only one who was suspicious. Somebody published an anonymous article all about how this was a ploy to destabilize Wizarding Society and prep it for take over. The Queen's Gambit Club could be heard quoting the passage for weeks. 

But overall, reception was more positive than Ettie could have hoped, at least in Hogwarts. With McGonagall's permission, they'd arranged for several House Elves to talk to the assembled student body. Realizing just how much the elves did, all while most of them were mistreated and demeaned, really made a difference. Support for the HELP (House Elf Liberation and Protection) movement skyrocketed. 

"The wand wood of revolutionaries," Tom said quietly after a meeting one night, staring down at his wand. "Damn. I guess Ollivander was right."

...

Being busy with a slave uprising didn't mean Ettie got to slack on everything else she had going on. Moody and Snape still smacked her around regularly, she still met with her coven at least once a week, and she still had mountains of homework that she couldn't let herself slack on. 

It was odd. 

Ettie felt...so much purpose. In her first life, she'd been aimless. Her only goals were to keep Maisie safe and try not to die while doing it. She'd failed in at least one of those. But now she had so many people depending on her. Instead of crushing her, the weight of that responsibility was invigorating. For so long Ettie had been surviving instead of thriving. Now she'd had her first taste of what _living_ was like.

So of course the universe had to go and ruin it.

...

The arrival of the Third Task, in all its glory, left Ettie feeling sour and jittery. Who or what, she wondered, would be trying to kill her this time?

She and the other Champions lined up at the various entrances to the maze. Tom blew her a kiss and Ettie pretended to catch it, just like he'd done earlier that year. He laughed. 

"Alright!" the Tournament organizer declared. "Thomas Baudelaire is in first place, and shall enter the maze first! Run with the cannon, lad!"

The cannon boomed and Tom took off, vanishing into the greenery. A few minutes later it was her turn, and Ettie jogged into the maze. The hedge sealed itself behind her and Ettie sneered. She kept up a steady job, using the point-me spell as her compass.

It wasn't long before she encountered her first obstacle. It looked like some unholy cross between a fire crab and a manticore and was almost as big as Ettie. It charged. 

"Stupefy. Bombardo! Expulso!"

The third spell worked, sending the creature flying. Ettie sprinted down the next turn she came to and just focused on loosing it before continuing. She slowed to a jog again, wand at the ready. Adrenaline sparked under her skin and stray hairs stuck to the back of her neck.

Ettie rounded the next corner and stopped dead. What kind of asshole put a baby—?! Oh. Right, boggart. 

"Riddikulus," she huffed, already stalking past. But to her shock, the spell did nothing. The toddler lunged, all hungry eyes and bared fangs. Ettie shrieked as it latched onto her leg, kicking out wildly. Skin tore, but the not-a-baby lost its grip and smacked into the hedge. 

Ettie ran. The wound burned like hell, giving her a limp, but it would be fine in a few seconds—wait. Was it just her or were the walls getting closer? She poured on the speed, branches and leaves whipping against her skin, and burst out into the next turn.

She didn't dare slow down for a long while. Fear prickled at her senses in a way it hadn't really done before. Somebody was trying to kill her. Somebody was always trying to kill her. What the hell had she done that was so bad?! Was being born a severe enough crime? Was being a bitch? 

"I hate this," she snarled to herself. When she found out who was trying to off her, she'd _kill_ them. Kill them before they got to her. Because Ettie had not fought her way through this life just to have it cut short! 

She slowed to a walk, unable to jog any more. How long had she been in the maze? An hour at most. Probably not even that. Ettie sighed and tried the point-me spell again. She was going the wrong way. Great. She turned and stomped back the way she came, except the way was blocked, because of course it was.

A twig cracked. Ettie jumped to the side and watched as a stunning spell hit the hedge where her head used to be. She whipped around, already casting an incarcerous. 

Krum sliced the ropes out of the air and responded with a jinx. She blocked it.

"Expelliarmus!" she yelled, thinking _petrificus totalus_. When Krum preformed the block, he did the wrong one and fell to the earth. Ettie smirked. Snape had gotten her with that one _so_ many times. 

Ettie grabbed Krum's wand and used it to send off red sparks, then continued on her way. She encountered an actual boggart, a patch of mist that made the world turn upside down, and a sphinx with a riddle Luna had told her that very morning. 

It was just after that when Ettie ran into Tom. They eyed each other warily for a moment, wands raised. 

"So," Ettie said.

Tom huffed a laugh. "So."

They lowered their weapons at the same time.

"I don't care about winning," Ettie said. "I just want this stupid Tournament over with. Truce?"

"Truce," Tom agreed. Ettie grinned and went over to kiss him. They went on together, holding hands and chatting idly. 

"Oh look," Tom said. "An acromantula."

Ettie, who despised bugs and spiders as much as any stereotypical girly girl, hid behind him without an ounce of shame. Quarter sized black widows in the bathtub she could handle. Hairy eight-legged beasts as large as a pony? Hell no!

"Kill it dead," Ettie demanded. Tom was laughing as he complied, slicing the legs off the thing until it was just a midsection squirming on the ground. Then he got closer. 

"Ew!" she yelped as he prodded it with a toe. "Tom, that's disgusting. Just kill it."

"In a moment," he said, waving her off. He crouched down and examined the venom-coated pinchers that tried to snap at his face. Finally, Tom stood and cut it in half. Then he conjured some vials and went about collecting the venom while Ettie stood there and tapped her foot. 

Her boyfriend was such a nerd. 

...

Albus put his head in his hands when Ettie walked off Tiyanak venom like it was nothing. Whatever Voldemort had done to keep his bridge to the living world safe, it worked all too well. Albus had no choice but to kill her himself. 

...

Ettie and Tom rounded a corner and stopped dead. The TriWizard Cup was sitting at the end of the passage, glowing softly. They looked at each other. 

"Race you!" Ettie yelled, sprinting for the trophy. Tom's indignant yelp was swallowed up by her breathless laughter. Ettie was fast, but so was Tom, and his legs were about a foot longer. He caught up to her quickly, then pulled ahead. Ettie ran harder, and neck and neck they raced for it, neither of them bothering with spells.

Tom reached out and grasped the cup handle a split second before her fingers touched it. He vanished in a swirl of light. 

Ettie bent over her knees and panted. Distantly, she heard a crowd erupt in cheers and supposed the Portkey had taken Tom back to the front of the maze. Now all she had to do was wait for the Tournament people to come get her—

Ettie dropped like a puppet with cut strings, unable to move a muscle. Something touched her shoulder and a Portkey took effect. She landed sprawled on a dusty floor, limp and weak. Purple heeled boots approached.

"Oh my dear girl. I am so sorry it has come to this."

Dumbledore?! He was the one trying to kill her! But why? What had she done? Did he know she was a horcrux? That must have been it. Shit. Ettie was going to die. 

Dumbledore levitated her off the floor and into a chair. His chin was trembling and tears ran down the crevices in his cheeks. Chains sprang into being and wrapped tightly around her. Ettie's strength drained away. Inhibitors.

Dumbledore flicked his wand and Ettie could move again. She didn't bother screaming for help.

"Why?" Was all she said. Dumbledore met her gaze head on, eyes full of pain. Ettie was not sympathetic. 

"This is the only way. You...you are the one thing tying Lord Voldemort to this world, Ettie. In order for him to be defeated, you must first—"

His voice broke.

"You must first die."

Ettie's first reaction was one of relief. He didn't know about the horcruxes—Tom was _safe_. Her second was to stall for time. 

"Please don't kill me," she begged. "I would never join Voldemort, please!"

She began focusing on the web of Marks, which somehow she could reach even without her magic, and started sending a message. 

Dumbledore dropped to his knees before her chair. "I know. I know, my girl. I am so sorry. It won't hurt, I swear it. It will be just like going to sleep."

S-O-S. D-U-M-B-L—

Ettie struggled weakly against the chains, mostly for effect, but she didn't have to fake the fear in her voice. 

"HELP! SOMEBODY HELP ME!"

Dumbledore let her scream. Nobody came, because the room was warded top to bottom. Ettie already knew that. Eventually she stopped yelling and slumped as if defeated. 

—E-D-O-R-E. K-I-D-N-A-P—

"You don't have to do this," she said. "Please. Isn't—can't you find some other way?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "I have tried."

Then he started to raise his wand and Ettie was screaming for real this time. 

"No, don't, please! HELP! TOM!" 

...

Tom flinched as Ettie's voice rang in his ears. Help. Tom. He dropped the Cup and spun towards the nearest Auror, who _should have been_ keeping Ettie safe. 

"Harriet Potter has been abducted," Tom snapped.

She stood there, staring at him. 

"WELL? GET A BLOODY MOVE ON," he bellowed. A different Auror barked orders and the rest of them sprung into action. 

"Tom, what—" Tom slipped away from Madame Maxine's reaching hand and zeroed in on Blaise Zabini, who looked as pale as he had ever seen the boy. 

"Has she sent anything?" Tom demanded. Zabini shoved a piece of paper at him. 

SOS. Dumbledore kidnap.

His blood ran cold and hot at the same time. Tom swore and broke into a run, aiming for Barty, the one person he knew that should know where Dumbledore was. 

"The old fool has Ettie," he said, skidding to a stop. "Hurry!"

'Moody' pushed through the crowd and disappeared. And Madame Maxine finally caught up with Tom.

"Thomas Baudelaire! What is going on?" she demanded in French. 

"I think Ettie has been kidnapped! I saw it right before the Portkey activated," he lied. Maxine's face crumpled and she pulled Tom into a hug. 

"The Aurors will take care of it, sweet boy. Don't worry. Everything will be fine."

Tom wished he could believe her. 

...

Dumbledore raised his wand. Ettie threw herself to the side with strength she didn't know she still had. The spell missed by a hair, splashing harmlessly against the wall and Ettie toppled over. 

He paused. Ettie heaved for breath, watching him, so painfully aware of her own helplessness. Then, miracle of all miracles, Dumbledore turned away from her and faced the door. 

Moody charged inside.

"Traitor!"

"Alastor, I can explain—"

Moody attacked, charging forward with a roar. Dumbledore fended him off fairly easily, but Moody was fighting to kill. Dumbledore wasn't. He was slowly driven onto the defensive, where he stayed, standing like a rock in front of Ettie. It was almost like he was guarding her, except he wanted to kill her.

With a bang, the wards fell. Death Eaters poured inside, attacking en masse. Dumbledore backed up a step. He threw up a shield over himself and whipped towards Ettie. He shouted the incantation for a spell she didn't recognize.

"NO!"

Moody tackled Dumbledore to the side and the spell veered off track...but not far enough. Ettie suddenly felt light headed. It didn't hurt. She looked down and almost passed out. Her right arm was _gone_. Blood poured like a waterfall from a tiny stump, splashing across the floor. 

That...that wasn't good. 

The last thing Ettie heard was somebody calling her name before she sank into the waiting arms of darkness.


	8. i like the way they all scream part one

The girl fell, blood pouring from her stump of an arm, and Albus felt the most awful mix of disappointment and relief. She was alive—automatically his mind automatically categorized that as a good thing. But she was _alive_ , alive and keeping Voldemort tethered to life as well. 

He didn't have time to correct his mistake. Alastor was shooting a vicious curse at him even then. Albus dodged, stumbled as a flesh eating curse slammed into his back, and called Fawkes. The phoenix appeared in a blaze of fire and took him away. 

...

Barty had to keep his cover. 

His Lord's investment was down an arm, the old goat had gotten away, and he was surrounded by comrades that didn't know it was him. And he had to keep his cover, all without getting killed or killing anyone too useful to the Dark Lord. 

Thank Morgana that Bella was in on it. She rushed over to the Potter brat instead of attacking, and Barty began the dangerous dance of staying alive. 

...

When Ettie woke up, she remembered everything that happened. She remembered that Dumbledore had kidnapped her, attacked her, and—

And. 

Ettie didn't want to look. Laying still like this, she could almost pretend her arm was simply numb. It was the painkillers that meant she couldn't feel it. Everything was fine. She had the Elixir of Life running through her veins, right?

Ettie opened her eyes. Her arm was gone, and a stump wrapped in gauze greeted her instead. She swallowed back bile and looked around the room instead. Tom's amber-eyed gaze met hers, glazed and hollow, surrounded by purple shadows. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. 

"Did they get him?" she asked, voice little more than a rasp. Tom shook his head jerkily. Ettie probably should have felt something—angry, scared? She didn't.

"Oh. Is...can my arm be reattached?"

Tom's face was composed but his eyes shone with tears. Finally, he spoke. 

"I'm sorry," he said, and his voice was even more wrecked than Ettie's. Ettie continued to feel nothing. 

"Am I in shock?" she wondered.

Tom took a deep breath and pulled himself together. "No, little love. The Healers have you on high-grade calming draughts."

"I don't like it."

"I'll call them," he said, reaching for a cord on the wall. It chimed softly, and a woman's voice said that a Healer was on her way. 

"Where are Sirius and Remus?" Ettie asked. 

"Hunting Dumbledore with the Aurors. Not that they know it's Dumbledore they're looking for."

"Why not?"

"Bellatrix was the one who took you to the hospital, in disguise of course. The only witnesses to what happened are yourself, Moody, and the Knights. I suspect the Ministry will be here soon to take your statement."

"Oh." Ettie lay back against the pillows and tried to think about that. But all she could concentrate on was how empty she felt. 

Tom took her remaining hand like it was fragile, cradling it between both of his. Something in her relaxed.

"Oh, love, please don't cry," he murmured. Ettie blinked and realized there were tears rolling down her cheeks. "You'll be alright. We'll find Dumbledore and make him _pay_."

Ettie didn't reply. 

The Healer came in a few minutes later and took her off the good stuff, but still Ettie didn't feel any sort of pain. Apparently the curse Dumbledore used was one of the more humane execution spells, one that painlessly devoured what it touched. Normally the wounds left over couldn't usually be closed, but, well. Ettie was special. 

"It's a true miracle," the Healer said, staring blatantly at the scar on her forehead. 

"Right," Ettie said, who didn't really consider losing her damn arm a miracle. 

"If we could just do some tests..." the Healer said. 

"No," Tom and Ettie said simultaneously.

"I think that's all we need," Tom said. He stood up and loomed over the Healer, smiling. She looked exactly as intimidated as she should have. "You can go now."

She all but fled. 

Immediately, Tom's ghoulish smile dropped and he came to sit at her bedside again. He took Ettie's hand and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of it. She closed her eyes and pretended that everything was fine. 

A few hours later, Sirius and Remus came into the room. They both looked as exhausted as Tom did. Sirius' hands were shaking as he cupped her face. 

"You're okay," he breathed, eyes flitting across her form, avoiding the stump. "W-well. Not okay, but—Merlin, you're _alive_."

Sirius pressed a kiss to her forehead and moved aside so Remus could see her. He tucked the blankets more firmly around her and smoothed her hair out of her face. 

"I brought your school assignments," he said quietly, "and a book of contemporary courses. You don't have to to the homework, but I thought you might like to anyway."

He was right. Voldemort would still torture her for getting anything less than an O, missing arm or not. 

"Thanks."

Remus nodded, his expression sad and soft. He leaned down and placed a kiss of his own to her head. He and Sirius sat down next to Tom, who had yet to let go of her hand. 

"How are you feeling, Bambi?" Sirius asked. "Is there anything you need?"

"Tired," she said truthfully. "And can someone let Leviathan know I'm alright?"

"I will," Remus said. "I need to go back to the castle to collect my things anyway."

"Thanks," she repeated. A wave of exhaustion hit her and Ettie grimaced. 

"We'll let you get some sleep," Tom said, attempting to let go of her hand. Ettie dug her claws in.

"Don't leave." Then, feeling like it was dragged out of her: "Please."

Tom softened. "Okay—"

"You haven't slept in two days," Sirius interrupted gently. "Sorry kid, but I think you need to get some rest."

"She wants me to stay," Tom retorted. 

"I'd rather you be healthy," Ettie said. "Bad enough one of us is in the hospital."

"I'm fine."

"You're not," Remus disagreed. Tom bared his teeth and prepared to argue, but Sirius cut him off again. That was a testament to how tired Tom really was. Usually it was impossible to cut him off in a conversation. 

"You can stay with us in London," he said. "So you can be close in case anything happens."

"Please, Tom?" Ettie pressed. The word came much easier that time. 

He relented.

"Alright." Tom stood up and dropped a third kiss on Ettie, this time on the cheek. "I'll see you soon."

"Bye."

Ettie settled back against the pillows and tried to ignore the nothingness where her arm should have been. Tom wasn't the only one who needed sleep. 

...

Barty knelt low before the Dark Lord and waited for instruction. He had already given his report, but now he needed to know what his next move should be. 

"Alastor Moody will escape due to the incompetence of...hm, Selwyn, who will perish in the process," the Dark Lord decided. "He will reconvene with the Order of the Phoenix and let them know that the great Albus Dumbledore kidnapped, maimed, and tried to murder an innocent girl, though undoubtedly many will not believe. 

"Should Dumbledore attempt contact with him, Moody will accept the invitation and try to detain him. When this fails, the old fool will no doubt explain himself. You will report his reasons to me as soon as possible. Moody will be swayed by Dumbledore and remain... _loyal_."

Barty grinned.

"It will be done, my Lord."

...

The Auror that came to take her statement was a fresh faced twenty-something with pink hair and a worried expression. She tripped coming in the door. 

"So, er, can you explain what happened after you were taken from the maze? In as much detail as possible, please," Auror Tonks said, after observing the usual pleasantries. 

Ettie opened her mouth...and nothing came out. She closed it again. She didn't—

"Who was it that was responsible for your kidnapping?" the Auror prompted gently. Ettie still couldn't find it in herself to speak. What the hell was wrong with her?

She looked at Tom, whose brow was furrowed, and mimed writing. He understood immediately, and conjured parchment and a self-inking quill. Ettie put her shaking hand to the paper.

 _Albus Dumbledore_.

Auror Tonks dropped her notebook. Sirius choked on nothing, Remus stopped breathing, and Tom pretended to stumble and catch himself on a chair. 

"Polyjuice," Sirius managed after a stunned few seconds. "It must have been."

Ettie shrugged jerkily. All she could think about was Dumbledore's face as he raised his wand, the tears in his eyes, the numb horror she felt as her arm simply vanished—

"You're in the hospital," Tom murmured, "you're safe. You're safe."

Ettie caught her breath again. Tonks was pale—even her hair had turned an ashen white as she scooped up her notes. "I...alright. The kidnapper took the guise of Albus Dumbledore. What—what happened after you were taken?"

Ettie scribbled out a vague account—he tied me up, said I had to die, tried to kill me, a bunch of strangers burst in and attacked. She found herself floating away again, looking down at herself as she wrote and the people around her grew more and more horrified. 

A few more questions and the Auror left, stumbling far worse than she had when she entered. 

"Oh Harry..." Remus croaked. "Oh, Bambi, sweetheart..."

He couldn't seem to finish the thought. Tom sat down on the bed next to Ettie and pulled her into his lap. With his face pressed into her hair, breath rustling the curls, she started to feel a bit more present. 

"I need to leave," Sirius managed, standing abruptly and all but running from the room. 

"I'll go after him," Remus said, touching Ettie's unharmed shoulder briefly. Then he was gone too. Abandoning her. Again. 

"They've not abandoned you," Tom said quietly. "Black is throwing up in the bathroom down the hall and Lupin is presumably holding his hair back. They'll be back."

That was true. When Ettie concentrated, she could hear the distant sounds of retching. Her uncles returned a few minutes later.

Sirius wordlessly sat on the bed and wrapped himself around both Ettie and Tom, who jerked in surprise. Remus sat down too a moment after, joining the embrace. 

None of them moved for a long time. 

...

Sirius flinched away from the group hug as the phoenix talisman in his pocket buzzed. Emergency Order Meeting. 

He jumped off the bed and then froze, looking back at the two confused teenagers who would have no idea why he was leaving. 

"Go," Remus said. "I'll explain."

Torn between gratefulness and guilt, Sirius ran towards the apparition point. He arrived outside Grimmauld moments later and tore through the doorway and into the kitchen. He was one of the first to arrive. Moody, bloody and grizzled and missing a new chunk of flesh, sat at the table as Molly healed him. 

"What happened?" Sirius demanded. 

"Either Albus has gone mad or somebody managed to get the drop on the world's most powerful wizard," he growled. "He, or somebody looking like him, tried to kill the Potter girl."

Sirius barely managed to catch himself on the edge of the table as his knees gave out. He'd known already, but...somehow he thought that Harry was confused. Or confounded, maybe. 

"How did you get away from the Death Eaters?" he asked once he regained his voice. 

Both of Moody's eyes snapped to him. 

"How do you know about that?" Moody demanded, hand inching towards his wand. 

"Harry told us the whole story in the hospital."

Moody grunted skeptically, but his paranoia seemed appeased. "Some young idiot was on guard duty. Got away clean."

"Not so clean if you ask me," muttered Molly, who had been uncharacteristically silent up until then. 

"She's got a point," Sirius said, eyeing the fresh gouge across his cheek. 

"Whatever," he barked. "The Death Eater lost a fighter and we didn't! That's all that matters." 

Sirius conceeded on the acount that he...really didn't care. Which was awful, but Harry was his priority. "Have we heard from Dumbledore?"

"Not yet," Molly said. "Wherever the real Dumbledore is, he hasn't gotten away yet."

"Fuck. Okay. What—" Kingsley and Tonks hurried into the room. Like that was some sort of signal, everyone else began arriving in droves. Sirius tapped his foot impatiently as Moody caught them up. Most of them had never seen war or even a duel before, and were not taking the news well, panicking like new recruits.

 _They_ are _new recruits_ , Sirius reminded himself. Still, knowing that didn't help his patience when it took almost fifteen minutes to get the room settled enough to finally start making a fucking plan. 

"Our priority should be finding Albus," someone said. 

"Our priority should be protecting Harry," Sirius disagreed sharply. "Dumbledore is a grown wizard and more powerful than any of us. Harry is just a kid."

"Black is right. Shacklebolt, what is her security looking like on the Ministry's side?"

"We have a full squad of Aurors on her hospital room and she's been given a voice-activated Portkey," Kingsley answered. The conversation continued from there, and Sirius threw himself into the logistics of protecting his goddaughter and finding their leader, smothering the howling anger in his mind. 

...

Hermione threw up when she saw the newspaper. 'Girl-Who-Lived maimed by execution curse!' it proclaimed. 'Attacker takes image of School Headmaster—is this the real Albus Dumbledore?'

"Did you know the girl?" her father asked. Hermione shook her head, a silent lie. 

"No. We were in different Houses, so I never met her."

"Are you worried about your Headmaster?" her mother said. "I know you were close—"

"I'm fine," Hermione lied again. 

Her mother looked doubtful. "He never—never showed any signs of being unstable?"

"Professor Dumbledore would never hurt me," Hermione said hotly. That, at least, was true. 

Or was it? Harriet Potter had done nothing wrong, and Dumbledore certainly hurt _her_. If Hermione was the one unlucky enough to be keeping a monster alive, would she be the one in the hospital with a missing arm? 

It was more likely, Hermione thought despite herself, that she would _really_ be dead.

...

When Ron heard the news, he squeezed his eyes shut and struggled not to react. 

Potter was evil.

Potter was a fourteen year old girl.

Potter, if he was reading between the lines correctly, had to die for Voldemort to die. 

Potter was a _fourteen year old girl_.

Ron left the room, unable to stand his mother fawning over 'that poor girl' and hoping the Aurors caught the 'real culprit' one second longer. 

...

"This is terrible," Hannah's mother spat, pacing up and down the living room. "The girl is an abomination! She should have died when she was a baby; they should have tossed her through the Veil of Death when she survived the Killing Curse! It twisted her—and now the whole world will pay, mark my words!"

Hannah nodded fervently and said all the right things. She recycled old stories about Ettie from Hogwarts, most of them just rumors. She wished that the ploy to get her expelled had worked. Then she asked about the Veil of Death, just to make it seem like she actually cared about what Mother had to say. 

Mother froze. "I shouldn't have said anything. It's nothing." Then, face twisting with suspicion, she rounded on Hannah. "Why are you so interested in Dark objects, anyway?"

_You were the one who mentioned it, you crazy old bat!_

"I just wondered if she could still be put through the Veil of Death, before it's too late," Hannah lied immediately. Mother relaxed. 

"Too much security now," she muttered. "We'd never get to the freak."

And then she went off on another rant about Evil and Darkness and the Goodness of the Light, Hannah nodding and making noises in all the right places. 

...

Albus didn't read the newspapers delivered to his safehouse for several days. He needed to know what the press we as saying, and yet...

Fawkes trilled and Albus ran a hand down his familiar's plumage. 

"No, old friend. I'm afraid I'm not alright." 

Fawkes nudged his head into Albus' shoulder and filled the air with Phoenix Song. It was a comfort that it filled him with as much comfort and peace as ever—had he made the wrong decision, had he turned down the path of evil unknowingly, then surely the sound would strike pain into his very soul.

Albus took a fortifying breath. It was time he read the papers...and then reach out to the Order. They had been left floundering long enough.

Alastor, as the one who had caught him red handed, would be the hardest to convince, even if he hadn't been notoriously mistrustful. Add in the fact that he held the most sway in the Order after Albus himself, and it was clear who he needed to contact first. 

He read the papers—all of them, not just the likes of the _Daily Prophet._ It was not as bad as he had feared. Few outright believed Albus himself was truly the one responsible. He had lost a lot of credibility as the purported greatest wizard in the world, allowing someone to defeat and impersonate him, but he could use that to his advantage. 

Albus had attempted bringing news of Voldemort's return to various witches and wizards in high places before, only to be disbelieved at best. This, he could turn into proof. Who, after all, but the powerful and vicious Lord Voldemort, could get the better of Albus Dumbledore? As it was the Girl-Who-Lived who was attacked, that only added to the probability of the culprit being Voldemort. 

All Albus had to do was weave this new narrative together tightly enough that reporters like Rita Skeeter couldn't find many loose threads to pull at. The pieces were all there—the theft of the Philosopher's Stone, the deaths of war heroes like Barty Crouch Senior and Amelia Bones, the Azkaban breakout, the girl's attack. 

Yes, Albus thought, that would work nicely. Then his small smile faded as he remembered again what he had done...and what he was planning to do. 

...

It had been two weeka since Ettie woke up in the hospital, and today they were talking about prosthetics. 

"—the nerves are completely destroyed," one specialist was saying clinically. She appreciated his professionalism, unlike his taller partner, who kept giving Ettie sad looks. "And we can't cut and regrow them because the damage from the curse has permeated through to the bone even in the trunk of the body, rendering the entire venture pointless."

"So what options are there?" asked Ettie flatly. She had already been appraised of all this by Tom, whose knowledge on nerve magics had likely surpassed most of the Healers in St Mungo's over the last few weeks. 

The specialists exchanged a look. "We can give you an illusory arm, one that will look real and can be controlled by your magic to an extent. Pre-set commands, that sort of thing."

"Or we could give you a physical extension, one you have no control over," the second man finished, looking more depressed than Ettie felt. "I am so sorry, Miss Potter, but this is the best we can do."

"Then what good are you?" Sirius snapped, practically boiling over with rage. 

"It's fine, Padfoot," she said. "I already knew we wouldn't be able to do much." He settled down. Remus rubbed his back comfortingly. 

"Can I have some time to think about it?" Ettie asked.

"Of course. Would you us to come back in an hour?"

"Yeah. Sure."

They left left and Ettie settled back against the pillows, scowling at the ceiling. She absently rubbed the meat of her shoulder as if trying to coax feeling back into it. 

"What do you think?" Tom said evenly. He had regained ruthless control over his emotional state after the first few-day lapse and Ettie couldn't help but resent his composure. Just a little. 

"I think either one sounds awful," she said. "I..."

She didn't want a prosthetic, especially one she couldn't actually use. She wanted her _arm back_. Ettie started crying again, hating her weakness. Sirius and Remus started to embrace her but Tom stopped them. She was glad. 

Once she had cried herself out, she leaned tiredly against Tom's side. Remus started stroking her hair and Sirius rested his hand on her leg. 

"You don't have to pick one," Tom said quietly. "If it will only make you miss what you used to have."

Another stab of pain, of anger at Tom for being so blunt. She pushed it aside. Ettie much preferred Tom's almost callous bluntness to the way everyone else tiptoed around her. And it wasn't like Tom was incapable of tact; he was doing it because _she_ liked it better. 

"You're right," she acknowledged. "That would only make it worse."

"I'll let them know," Remus said, slipping out of the room to catch up with the specialists.

Tom handed her a hanky and Ettie blew her nose irritably. 

"I hate this," she said. 

"I know, Bambi," Sirius soothed her. 

"You're strong," Tom said. "You've overcome worse."

That was true. Loosing Maisie was worse than loosing an arm any day, and yet there she stood. Alive. Mostly whole. 

"Yeah," Ettie said. "Yeah."

Knowing it didn't make the loss of a limb hurt any less. But nothing really would. 

...

Tom, for the moment, had a new goal for his life, and that was to make Albus Dumbledore as miserable as possible. He would kill him if he could, but Tom didn't have any delusions about his current capabilities. 

So, instead of dismembering and setting the man ablaze, he would have to settle for political, social and economic ruin. 

"Dobby," Tom called once he had left the hospital for the night, telling Black and Lupin he was going for a walk. Tom took a lot of 'walks' these days. 

"Yes?" The elf asked as he popped into being.

"How are you?" Tom asked, though frankly he couldn't care less. It was still good business to present a caring front to his followers. Better business than torturing and making them kiss the hem of his robes. 

"I is well, but I is knowing you only ask to be polite," Dobby replied knowingly. 

Tom winced. "No, I do care. I'm just..."

"Worried about Missy Potter," Dobby finished, his ears drooping a touch. Tom nodded. "I is understanding. Is Missy doing any better?"

Unlike Tom, Dobby actually meant the question. Tom felt a pinch of guilt at his own manipulations. 

"Not yet," Tom said honestly. "But she will. She's the strongest witch I know."

"I is sending her well wishes."

"Thank you, Dobby. Now, do you have anything to report?"

Dobby nodded eagerly, a touch of deviousness coming into his round eyes. "Oh yes. I is having much progress! All of the nasty wizards you is telling me about have been...taken care of."

Tom allowed a sharp smile to surface. Taken care of. The ominous words sounded even worse in the elf's squeaky voice. 

"Very good, Dobby. Now, here's what you're going to do next..."

...

Albus was surprised by how easy it was to break into Alastor's house, phoenix familiar or not, up until the point wards snapped around him like a steel trap and Alastor himself shimmered into visibility.

"You've been a good friend, Albus, so I'm going to give you exactly five minutes to explain why you tried to kill an innocent girl."

Albus couldn't help but smile. That was the Alastor he knew. 

"You don't have a lot to be smiling about right now," Alastor growled. "Start talking."

"Harriet Potter," Albus said frankly, "is keeping Lord Voldemort alive."

Alastor's wand, trained on his heart, didn't waver but his breath hitched. 

"You're sure of this?"

"I am." Albus inclined his head. "And I am willing to swear any oath you desire to prove it."

"Start by swearing that you are Albus Dumbledore," Alastor demanded without missing a beat. "Swear it on your blood."

"I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, do swear on my lineage that I am who I say I am."

Alastor's lips twisted. "And swear...swear on your magic that you're telling the truth."

Albus frowned. The only oath more binding—or indeed unstable—was the Unbreakable Vow. Just swearing on one's magic was a risk, for if the oath decided one wasn't sincere enough, or being truthful enough with themselves, or treating the oath with proper respect, it could strip the participants of their powers, killing them in the process. 

"I swear," Albus said slowly, "that the truth as I know it is that Harriet Lily Potter is the tie connecting Tom Marvolo Riddle to the earthly plane, and that while for former lives, the latter cannot die."

Alastor lowered his wand, his organic eye almost as wide as the artificial one. 

"What?" he croaked. " _How?_ "

Albus shook his head. "You must understand that I cannot tell you, old friend. The less you know, the better."

Alastor gathered himself again. "...Aye, I understand."

He went to release Albus from the wards, but Albus smiled and held up a hand. 

"Please, allow me."

He flexed his magic and the wards crumpled, sparking as they failed, searing runes deep into the stone floor. 

Alastor was typically unimpressed. 

"Your need to show off is not more important than my flooring, Albus," he snapped, shoving past to the liquor cabinet. He poured two tumblers of his favorite whiskey, preforming the routine poison detection spells even on his own stash. 

"Forgive an old man his follies," Albus chuckled, accepting a glass. 

He only grunted, knocking back an impressive amount of alcohol in one swallow. 

"So what are we going to do?'

"I rather thought we would lay the blame for Miss Potter's attack at the feet of Voldemort," Albus answered, nursing his own drink. 

"Tricky. People'll believe it too. You'll clear your name and drag Voldemort back into the light in one fell swoop."

"Indeed."

"So what do you need me to do?"

Albus sighed. "Only to calm the Order and assure them that I am innocent in this. I will inform them of the rest of the fabrication."

"Only you're not innocent, are you," Alastor said, both eyes boring into Albus'. "You tried to kill that girl and by the end of this you'll have succeeded. Are you sure you can live with that kind of burden on your conscience?"

Albus felt his jaw clench briefly. "It doesn't matter whether I can live with it or not. It must be done. There is no other way."

Alastor sighed. "Alright Albus. I trust you."

Albus put a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, Alastor. You are one of my dearest friends. Your regard means the world to me."

Alastor clasped his shoulder back in a rare show of comradery. His eyes gleamed in the candle light. 

"You as well, old friend. You as well."

...

Voldemort tapped his wand against the arm of his chair as Barty left, breathing evenly Dumbledore didn't know about the horcruxes, of that he was fairly certain. He could never be sure and would have to take precautions with his remaining horcruxes (an elf had destroyed the locket, an _elf_ , and oh how he would make the girl _pay_ for bringing him the news—) but it was unlikely. 

Still, were the old goat to find out, the first place he would look would be the Gaunts' shack. Voldemort rose and departed, ignoring the Death Eaters that we're still waiting to report for the day. 

He retrieved the ring from the shack, and after a moment of hesitation, dismantled the traps and curses wreathing the place. They were not his best work—he had hardly been seventeen when he made them—and their presence would hint to any trespassers that the dilapidated walls once had something to hide. 

Voldemort surveyed it. This marked four horcruxes in his grasp, no longer hidden away. The girl, the boy, Ravenclaw's diadem, and now the Gaunt family ring. The diadem he used with some frequency, making it prudent to keep close. The boy was both useful and entertaining and the girl served a similar purpose. The ring, however...

He frowned as he examined it more closely. There was something there, something he had not the magical sensitivity to notice when he first made it a horcrux. His own enchantments were not the only ones the ring bore. 

Voldemort waved his wand and the stone set in the band, a simple, black pebble polished to a shine, popped out easily. The stone bore no touch of his own magic. The ring itself housed the shard of his soul, leaving the pebble untouched. It shouldn't have been possible, and yet...

With a dismissive shrug, Voldemort dropped the stone to the floor of the shack. He apparated back to the Manor and set about creating another warded nook to store the latest horcrux. He finished just in time for the boy to arrive. Voldemort greeted him with a curse.

Tom blocked it and, quite unlike him, sent one back. Voldemort batted it away with his bare hand. 

"You're in some mood," Tom observed caustically, folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the doorway. 

"I could say the same for yourself."

They studied each other for a moment. Tom looked away first and Voldemort felt his lips curl mirthlessly at the victory, small though it was. 

"How is the girl?"

"Alive, as you well know. It's not as if you care beyond that," Tom ground out. 

Voldemort backhanded him, feeling the rage simmering in his chest start to boil once more.

"Do not be flippant with me now, boy," he warned. 

Tom glared and Voldemort hit him again. Dark blood dripped from a split lip and Tom wiped carelessly at it, leaving crimson smeared across his face. But he did not meet Voldemort's eyes again. 

Insolent child. 

"Bring me the girl," he instructed. "Dumbledore may not know everything, but he has gleaned that she plays a part in keeping me alive. She must be kept safe."

"Ettie isn't recovered yet," Tom said, gazing at the floor. 

"I care not."

"And removing her from the public eye now will only draw attention to us...to you. If Dumbledore is truly planning to go public with his lies, taking her now will only exacerbate the issue," he continued. 

"And if Dumbledore finds her?" Voldemort asked archly. "Of she dies?"

Tom shrugged. "Then she dies. We have other horcruxes. But I doubt it will come to that. She has the public on her side, every eye in the nation glued to her. Dumbledore would be a fool to risk striking again so quickly."

Voldemort found his pitiful attempts to pretend he cared nothing for the girl amusing. Time and experience would change that, but for now the weakness was a useful one. The girl cared for Tom as well. It was the only thing keeping her tied to Voldemort's side. 

He pondered that. The girl was tethered only loosely to him, though bound tightly to Tom. But if she had no other choice, no place else to run... A plan began to take form. 

"Very well," he allowed. "But you will stay with her and the bloodtraitors. If she is killed I will take it out of your hide. Dismissed."

Tom bowed so shallowly that he would have killed any other for the insult and left. Voldemort didn't care. By the end of the summer, the girl would be his in both word and deed. 

...

Voldemort was the one who tried to kill Harry. 

Sirius felt a shaky breath of pure relief escape him. He had never really believed it was Dumbledore, of course, but he couldn't help but wonder sometimes...

Whatever. It was in the past and the Headmaster was a good man. He had escaped You-Know-Who and was going to protect his little Bambi. Everything would be fine. 

After the meeting where the Order learned what had really happened, Dumbledore stopped Sirius before he could leave with the rest of the group.

"Sirius, a word?"

"Of course," Sirius said. "Remus, will you go check on Harry and Tom for me? Make sure there's no funny business?"

Remus gave him an exasperated look—if there was any funny business then it was up to Harry to decide, Sirius knew—but humored him anyway. 

"Tom?" Dumbledore questioned lightly. "I assume you refer to Thomas Baudelaire, the TriWizard Champion?"

Sirius nodded. "That's him. Kid refused to leave Harry when she was in the hospital, so we gave him a place to stay. Hasn't left since."

"Young love," Dumbledore said, a twinkle appearing in his eyes. "I look forward to meeting this Mr Baudelaire sometime soon. Does he show any inclination towards working with the Order?"

Sirius thought about it. "Maybe," he decided. "Tom is more of a lone wolf, but I think he'd do just about anything to keep Harry safe. You should have seen his face when he first laid eyes on her in the hospital. Matter of fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he tries to go after Voldemort himself. Looked ready to kill."

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. 

"Indeed. I'll have to speak to him after I visit Miss Potter."

Sirius hesitated. "You're going to talk to Harry?"

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "I feel I must apologize for allowing myself to be taken. We're I but stronger this never would have happened to her."

"Er, maybe you should hold off a few weeks," Sirius suggested. "Harry is...she's still healing and I think if you just walk in, it'll give her a turn."

"Then you shall announce me," Dumbledore said simply. It was clear he wasn't going to change his mind, so Sirius called Remus to share the Secret with him. He had the Headmaster wait in the hall while he stepped inside her room.

He stopped

"Bambi?" Sirius asked, baffled. Harry was on the floor in nothing but a pair of boy's pants and a sports bra, balanced on her toes and remaining hand, doing press-ups. 

"—ighteen, oh hello Sirius," Tom said, sprawled out along the sofa with a book. "Nineteen...and twenty. Good job."

Harry collapsed face first on the floor, making awful noises. Sirius' heart leaped into his throat until Harry rolled over and gave him a tired smile. 

"Hey Padfoot. What's up?"

Sirius had to swallow the lump in his throat before he could say anything. Harry hadn't smiled since she first woke up in the hospital and they were rare enough before that. 

"Er, it's a bit of a story," Sirius said, hoping Dumbledore was willing to wait while he explained to these kids that the greatest wizard in the world hadn't actually gone mad but was in fact impersonated by the most evil wizard in the world. "Er. Well, you know how Voldemort is back?"

The teens exchanged looks. 

"Yeah?" Harry said. 

"Well, you see, when you...when Harry was attacked, you know, that was...that was actually Voldemort. Dumbledore got captured and You-Know-Who impersonated him—"

Harry curled in on herself and Tom was on his feet, looking ready to fight. Sirius hadn't even seen him move. 

"—and now he wants to talk to Harry," Sirius finished quickly, wincing. "Er, to apologize."

"If he was truly impersonated then he has nothing to apologize for," Tom said icily. "Send him away."

"I—"

But Sirius never found out what he was going to say, because Dumbledore pushed the door open and came inside. Sirius whipped around indignantly.

Dumbledore froze, staring straight at Tom, who had his wand out and stepped in front of Harry.

"Tom," Dumbledore breathed. Sirius faltered, confused. What? Why was he looking at him like—

"Fuck!"

Sirius ducked as a curse rebounded off a shield and flew towards his head. Neither Tom nor Dumbledore reacted. They were in their own world, a whirlwind of chaos and curses, but Tom was loosing fast, barely managing to deflect a barrage of spells at the same time he smashed a group of Transfigured attackers coming at him—and therefore _Harry_ —from behind. 

Remus burst into the room, wand drawn, and immediately had to dodge a spell that Sirius didn't even recognize. 

"STOP IT!" Harry was screaming, struggling onto her knees. She had gotten clipped by one of Dumbledore's spells and was bleeding again. Something in Sirius broke to see her like this, wild eyed and terrified, how she must have looked when Voldemort—

Voldemort. 

Fuck, was this—?!

'Dumbledore' raised his arms and blasted both Tom and Harry back into the far side of the room. With a roar, Sirius charged. He threw a stunning curse directly at maybe-Voldemort's exposed back, only for the man to whip around and deflect it in the time it took Sirius to swear. Remus joined the fight at his side, hurling everything he had at the Dark Lord in disguise. 

It wasn't enough. Before he knew what was happening, Sirius was pinned on his front, arms twisted behind his back, with Remus right next to him in the same position. 

"Tom," Voldemort-as-Dumbledore said coldly. "I should have known."

"Just wait," Tom said desperately, on his knees, wandless, hands in the air. Harry wasn't moving. "It's not what you think—"

"Really? And what do I think, Tom Riddle?"

What?

Sirius stared. Tom Rid—but that was—it _couldn't_ be—

"It can't be," Remus croaked. Tom's eyes flickered in their direction. They didn't linger, darting back to look at Dumbledore so quickly Sirius thought he'd imagined it. 

"Revelio," Dumbledore snapped. Even with the amount of power he must have pushed into that spell, it still took several seconds for Tom's auburn hair to bleed black, for his hazel eyes to erupt into red-gold. 

"What?" Dumbledore took a startled step back, no doubt have been expecting Tom to turn into the serpentine creature that haunted the dreams of thousands. 

"I told you," Tom said—and maybe he really was just Tom, not Tom Riddle, monster and murderer. "It's not what you think."

In his surprise, Dumbledore released Sirius and Remus. They jumped to their feet, wandless, looking between the two with wide eyes. 

"I am not the Dark Lord," Tom continued. Dumbledore rallied quickly. 

"Perhaps not," he said, wand still raised. "But you are his protege at the very least. You killed Amelia Bones and tortured Marlene McKinnon."

Sirius almost sat down again. That was Tom? Or was Dumbledore lying? Was this man even Dumbledore?

"Leave him alone," a weak voice interjected. Harry! Sirius lunged to get to her, only to freeze as Dumbledore flicked his wand. 

"You're working with him," Dumbledore realized, fury growing like gathering thunderclouds. "You were with Voldemort all along. I thought better of you."

But Harry didn't say a word in her own defence.

"Don't hurt him," Harry mumbled, swaying where she sat. "Please. It's not his fault—"

She collapsed and Tom caught her by the shoulders, taking his eyes off Dumbledore to do so. But Dumbledore didn't strike. He was looking at the two with a frown, as if trying to solve a particularly stubborn puzzle. 

"What the hell is going on here?" Sirius burst out, striding forwards. This time maybe-Dumbledore let him. 

"Harry, Bambi—talk to me. What's happening?"

But Harry's head flopped limply, her eyes half rolled back in her head as she mouthed unintelligible words. 

"Curse fever," Remus said grimly. Sirius rounded on Dumbledore. 

"I don't care what's going on," he said tightly. 'But if you're the real Dumbledore, you'll help her."

"He is the real Dumbledore," Tom said, "and he's not going to help. He wants her dead."

Sirius waited for Dumbledore to deny it, to burst into action and help Harry. He only stood there, hard eyed and silent. 

Sirius backed away, wishing for the wand Dumbledore still had clutched in his free hand. 

"I'm so sorry, Sirius. Tom is right." What? No, that couldn't— "The girl must die."

"Traitor," Sirius whispered. "You—"

"She is what kept Voldemort from dying that night, fifteen years ago," Dumbledore went on. "Their souls forged a bond and unless it is broken, Voldemort will never die. Please, I know this is difficult, but there's _no other way._ "

Dumbledore was begging. There were tears in his eyes. Sirius couldn't _breathe_. 

"I've looked," Dumbledore said brokenly. "I've tried. But it is a case of one life against the lives of thousands and we must act for the greater good!"

"Stop it," someone was saying. "Stop it. Stop it, stop it! STOP LYING!" It wasn't until his throat hurt that Sirius realized it was him.

Remus rounded on Harry. "Tell me he's lying! Ha—Ettie. Ettie, are you keeping Voldemort alive? Truth? _Truth?!_ "

"Truth," she croaked. The air hummed with the veracity of her statement. And Sirius broke. 

...

Well, Ettie thought hysterically, she was fucked. It had been a good ride, she would admit. She made some good friends, a better boyfriend, and learned how to turn someone inside out and keep them alive the whole time. Not bad for the work of fifteen years, even if she hadn't freed the house elves or passed her OWLs or gone all the way with Tom or—

Remus was still trying to find a way out of it. 

"—what about the Dementor's Kiss?" he said quickly, standing in front of Ettie like that would do anything to shield her. Sirius was shaking, silent, eyes wide and far away. "If one of the souls in the equations is gone, then—"

"It ends with both of them in a Dementor's grasp," Dumbledore said, shaking his head. 

"Well, what if we—we trap Voldemort, keep him contained—Draught of Living Death maybe?"

"The most powerful wizards can break an artificial sleep, given enough time."

"But if we—"

On and on it went. Tom's hand found her's. Ettie squeezed hard and he clutched back even harder. 

~You're not going to die,~ Tom said quietly. Even in Parseltongue his voice shook. 

~You can't promise that.~

~I can,~ he insisted. ~I can! I will. Ettie, you are not going to die because I _refuse_ to let you go. I'll drag your soul back from the reaper myself if I have to!~

~I hope we find each other in the next life,~ was all she could say. ~I hope we remember each other.~

~Ettie, _listen to me—_ ~

~Speaker?"

Ebony! Ettie's heart froze in her chest.

~Stay hidden, pretty,~ she commanded as quietly as she could, not moving her lips at all. Dumbledore didn't look like he was listening to but she wouldn't put anything past him. 

~Are you in danger?!~

~Yes. And we need your help. Can you sneak up on the old wizard? Without him seeing you?~

~There is plenty of cover, Speaker,~ Ebony agreed. Ettie closed her eyes briefly and thanked Merlin she kept her room messy. 

~On my count, I want you to strike the hand holding the wand,~ Ettie said. ~Are you ready?~

~I am.~

~Now!~

Ebony lunged, fangs sinking into the delicate skin of Dumbledore's wrist. Ettie bolted to her feet and grasped his wand as Dumbledore dropped it. Tom charged forward and tackled Dumbledore low around the knees, a takedown that would make a professional rugby player proud. 

"Stupefy!" Ettie shrieked, pointing Dumbledore's wand at him. His eyes rolled back in his head and the most powerful wizard of the century collapsed like a rag doll, but Ettie wasn't done. "Petrificus Totalus! Silencio. Incarcerous. Dormi."

Tom joined in once he'd retrieved his own wand from Dumbledore's pocket. He picked Ebony up and let him could around his neck. 

"Harry," Remus said. His tanned face was paper white. "Harry."

Ettie pulled him into a hug that he returned with desperation. His arms were shaking but tighter than any embrace she'd ever received. It was still strange hugging with only one arm. Then he abruptly wrenched back and pointed his wand at Tom. 

"Stay away from her," he snarled, eyes glowing yellow, teeth elongating past his lips. 

"If I were going to hurt her I already would have," Tom said back, unintimidated. He flicked his wand and disarmed Remus without a spell. The werewolf still looked seconds from attacking. 

"He saved my life, Uncle Moony," Ettie said, touching his shoulder. "He's on our side."

Remus didn't stand down, so Ettie switched tracks. 

"Sirius needs you, Remus," she said, pouring urgency into her voice. "Look at him!"

Remus' eyes flicked to his best friend. His resolve started to crumple. 

"I swear I won't hurt her," Tom murmured. "I swear."

Remus nodded once, guarded and hesitant, and went to help Sirius. Tom looked down at Dumbledore. 

"We have to kill him."

And fuck did Ettie want to. She had _trusted_ this man. Not much, but more than most adults. What had he done? Gone and thrown it in her face with an execution spell. 

"We shouldn't," she whispered. 

"I'll do it if you don't want to," Tom said, almost lightly, like he was offering to take care of some menial chore for her. Ettie gripped his hand, suddenly frightened. Frightened at the though of what cold-blooded murder might turn Tom into. 

"No," she said loudly. "No, we..."

A plan bloomed in her mind. 

~We need him,~ Ettie finished in Parseltongue, so Remus couldn't understand. Tom looked doubtful, but she pressed on. ~Tommy...we can't keep living like this. With Voldemort breathing down out necks, ready to lock us away if we make one wrong move. We need to get rid of him.~

~Ettie, as much as I would love to do that, we _are_ him. It's impossible.~

~We are not Voldemort,~ she said hotly. ~No, Tom, not even you. If anything, _he_ is _us_. We...what if Voldemort was the horcrux? What if you were the one in charge?~

~Even if I knew how to transfer the nexus, Voldemort is stronger than I am. He would find a way to come back,~ Tom said, but the glint in his eye told Ettie he hadn't dismissed the idea. 

Etrie opened her mouth to press her advantage.

"Harry," Sirius sobbed, interrupting them. Ettie turned and Sirius flung himself at her, wrapping her in his arms like she was a baby again. 

"I won't let you die," he mumbled, rocking them back and forth. "I won't let him take you away. Not even if it kills the whole damn world! He can't have you."

Ettie softened despite herself. She hugged Sirius back and gently extracted herself. 

"I know, Uncle Padfoot," she said hoarsely. "I—I know."

She took a deep breath and got her mind back in the game. Sirius was clearly in shock and Remus had yet to try anything, but their current situation wasn't exactly sustainable. 

"There's some things you two need to know," Ettie said, sharing a glance with Tom. It was, after all, half his story to tell. But he nodded minutely, so Ettie went on. 

"We...haven't exactly been truthful with you," she said unnecessarily. Remus snorted and even Sirius gave her a look. Ettie soldiered on. "In my second year, Voldemort sent Tom to kill me. Obviously, he made a different call. Tom took me back to Voldemort, where he found out that I was a...that I was keeping him alive. Voldemort couldn't change that, so he decided to keep me around."

"You met Voldemort?" Remus blurted out, going white again. Not that he'd ever regained much color in the first place. 

"Actually, I lived with him," Ettie corrected awkwardly. "Every summer since Second Year and once for Christmas holiday."

Remus looked like he was going to have a coronary and Sirius was staring at her like he was waiting for the punchline, so she moved on. 

"He's...well, you already know how awful Voldemort is. Even if I'm his life support and Tom is his son, he's still a monster to us. So, Tom and I decided that we were going to try and break away."

She felt Tom stiffen and hoped to Merlin that he didn't ruin her cover story. 

"I created a coven at school, and Tom has started building up support economically. But we're not strong enough to actually defeat Voldemort. That's where Dumbledore came in...at least until he started trying to kill me."

Sirius and Remus shot dark looks at the man in question. Ettie used the distraction to hiss a quick question to Tom. 

~Can we tell them about the horcruxes? If they swear.~

Tom squeezed her fingers once. That was a yes. 

"We know how he's cheated death," Ettie said. "But I can't tell you until you've sworn on your magic that you won't tell anyone else."

"On our magic?" Remus repeated. "Pup, that's incredibly dangerous!"

"I know." Ettie winced. "But it's dangerous information."

"We can talk about this later—"

"No. It has to be now," Tom said flatly. Remus bared his pointy teeth and Sirius opened his mouth, jabbing the Darth Vader finger at him. 

"Tommy is right. We don't have to figure out all the details this very moment, but we have to come to an agreement before Dumbledore wakes up."

"And what if we can't come to an agreement, Harry? What then?" Remus asked. 

"Then we'll erase your memories," Tom said. "And do it on our own."

Remus looked furious and opened his mouth. 

"I'll do it," Sirius said recklessly. 

"Sirius!"

"It's for the pup, Remus," he growled. "We don't have a choice."

Reluctantly, Remus nodded. 

Ettie let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. "We can work out the details of everything later. But for now...what are we going to do about Dumbledore?"

"Kill him," Sirius said. Ettie looked at him sharply—he wasn't kidding. "He tried to murder you, Bambi. We should kill him."

" _Sirius_ ," Remus said, aghast. 

"As much as I like that idea, we can't," Tom said. "He's the only one who can defeat Voldemort. We need him."

"So we erase _his_ memories," Remus said, still shooting Sirius angry looks.

"No," Ettie shook her head. "He's a Master Legilimens. He'd be able to recover them within a month."

"Why don't we remove them, then?" Sirius suggested. Ettie frowned. 

"What?" she asked at the same time as Remus. But Tom seemed interested. 

"You can steal someone's memories completely instead of just covering them up," Sirius explained. "It's considered Black Magic because it messes with someone's core identity."

"It would also require a Master Legilimens in combination with the potion," Tom said. "I'm good, but I'm not there yet."

"Snape," Ettie volunteered. "He's one."

"And he's on your side," Tom mused. "That could work. He shouldn't be reporting to the Dark Lord until tonight. Black, you're going to find the potion recipe in your library and Lupin, you start prepping."

"What are you going to do?"

"Fetch Snape, of course." He switched languages. ~Etrie, can you keep them from leaving the house? We can't risk them contacting anyone.~

~Of course.~

"I'll be back soon."

"Tom, wait!" Ettie hurried forward and grabbed him. He looked halfway between baffled and irritated. 

"Love, this really isn't the time—"

"Colouris," Ettie said, watching as his hair and eyes turned the appropriate colors. "Just in case."

He kissed her briefly and strode out the door. 

...

Several hours later, Dumbledore was still knocked out and drugged for good measure, the memory removal potion was ready, and Snape had finished berating Ettie for her foolishness. Everything was in place. 

Ettie watched with Sirius and Remus, wand at the ready, as Snape woke Dumbledore up and forced the potion down his throat. Unfortunately the process required that the victim be awake. Snape locked eyes with Dumbledore.

She waited for something dramatic to happen, for the flash and bang of successful high level magic. But after almost an hour, Dumbledore merely closed his eyes and leaned his head back, as if he were sleeping. Blood trickled almost gently from his nose. 

"Is that it?" she asked incredulously. 

"'Is that it,' she says," Snape sneered, wiping at his own bloody nose. "One of the most complicated potions in modern memory combined with metaphysical brain surgery and still Potter isn't impressed."

Sirius puffed up protectively but Ettie only stuck her tongue out. Snape checked the time and swore. 

"I'm late for my report. I can only hope Mr Baudelaire was successful in distracting the Dark Lord."

"Professor," Ettie said before he could leave. "Thank you."

He nodded curtly and was gone. Ettie was glad they didn't have to tamper with Snape's memories too. But he was a strong enough Occlumens to keep Voldemort out on his own, and Tom wouldn't be helping expose this particular secret any time soon. 

Now all they had to do was wait. Snape had implanted suggestions as to what Dumbledore had been doing for the past half a day, so as not to raise suspicion. Dumbledore's mind would fill in all the blank spots. The human brain couldn't cope with missing memories. Hidden or erased ones sure, but not the complete absence thereof. The Headmaster's own psyche would prevent him from realizing the truth. 

"This feels wrong," Sirius muttered as they moved Dumbledore back down to the kitchen, where he would supposedly have been chatting with Sirius and Remus for ages before falling asleep. Fun conversational topics like revealing that Tom was Voldemort's son and actually on their side, because they couldn't just waltz around hoping Dumbledore would never see Tom's face again. 

"Probably because it is," Ettie said. "But it's better than the alternative."

A few minutes later, Dumbles woke up and her uncles proved that they had acting skills worthy of any Slytherin. 

"I can't believe I fell asleep," Dumbledore said ruefully. "I must be even older than I thought."

"It's this damn war," Sirius said tiredly. "I'm a century younger than you and I think I was asleep before you were."

They said their farewells and escorted Dumbledore out. Ettie finally relaxed. 

"Okay," she said. "Now we can—"

But Remus cut her off. 

"No."

She blinked. "Excuse me?"

"We're tired," Remus said, glancing towards Sirius, who blinked dazedly. "It's been a long day and we've just done terrible things. I...I don't know if that sort of thing bothers you anymore."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what it means," said Remus, now undeniably hostile. "Look how far you've fallen, Harry! You—you're dating a murderer! The son of the man who killed your parents! You—"

He cut himself off. 

"It doesn't matter. What's done is done. But Harry, the least you could do is _pretend_ to have some sympathy for the people who don't have so much practice ignoring their morals."

He brushed past her went to take Sirius to bed, leaving Ettie standing there alone in the dark.


	9. i like the way they all scream part two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot's getting more complicated now. If you notice any holes or inconsistencies, please please point them out. Anyway, I hope you like it!

Tom limped back to Grimmauld Place, finding it dim and more unwelcoming than it had been in weeks. But Tom couldn't stay in Slytherin Manor and didn't have money for a hotel room, so he dragged himself up the front steps and down the hall. 

He froze, something an awful lot like a wand digging into his spine. 

"Give me one reason," Remus Lupin's hard, exhausted voice said, "why I shouldn't kill you where you stand."

"Ettie—"

"From what I can tell, you've corrupted her," Lupin interrupred. "I don't think I know her. If I ever did in the first place."

"I'm trying to keep your niece safe."

Lupin laughed bitterly. "I don't even know if that's the right thing to do anymore."

Tom's temper boiled over. He twisted around, grabbing Lupin's arm and putting him into a lock, then shoved him face first against the wall. He pressed his own wand to the back of his skull. 

"Ettie loves you," he growled. "She would happily die for both you and Black."

"Somehow I doubt that," Lupin hissed, trying to squirm away, but either his rage made Tom strong enough to pin a werewolf or Lupin wasn't trying all that hard. 

"Well don't," Tom snapped. "Ettie has done the best she could with a fucking mess of a life. Don't you _dare_ blame her for doing what it takes to survive."

"Are you talking about her or yourself?" Lupin shot back. Tom pushed away from him. 

"Both. Now, here's what's going to happen. You're going to get into bed with your boyfriend, have a good night's sleep, and apologize to _my_ girlfriend for whatever stupid thing you said, first thing in the morning. Do you understand me?"

"You don't give me orders," Lupin said. 

"Maybe not," Tom acknowledged. "But judging by the look on your face, you know you fucked up and are going to do what I say. If you have any sense."

Lupin was silent for a long time. Tom, though his back was bloody from Voldemort's parting curse and he'd twisted his ankle landing on the steps of Grimmauld Place, waited for him to spit it out. 

"Tell me she's still Harry," he said, tears creeping into the edges of his voice. Tom regarded him for a moment. 

"I can't do that," he said at last. "Because I never met your Harry. I've only ever known Ettie. But...she's a good person. Maybe not the best. But she tries harder than any goody two shoes Gryffindor that ever lived, and that counts for more than a pure heart."

Having said his word, Tom shoved past Lupin and stomped up the stairs to the guest room that held all his things. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow. 

...

Ettie left her room stiff and nervous the next morning. Sirius watched her with wide, uncertain eyes, looking incredibly young for a man in his forties. Remus wouldn't look at her at all. Tom was glaring at them both. She sat next to him and he wrapped a warm, strong arm around her shoulders. 

"So," she said awkwardly. 

"So," Sirius echoed, trying for a smile. 

"How did Voldemort do it?" Remus asked the air beside her left ear. 

Ettie looked at Tom, who had to be the one to tell. Ettie had sworn, all those months ago, that she wouldn't reveal to anyone Voldemort's methods of gaining immortality. 

"Have you ever heard of horcruxes?" Tom asked. 

Sirius shook his head and Remus frowned. 

"No."

"I expected as much. Voldemort himself only found them as a side note in a boik that was already rare. To create a horcrux is to rip one's soul through the act of murder, and remove a piece. The shard is then placed into an object of some kind. When the main soul, or nexus, is killed, they are prevented from moving on because parts of their soul remain.

"Voldemort split his soul?" Sirius breathed, horrified. Remus was looking rather green around the gills. His gaze switched to Ettie. "And part of it is _in you?_ "

Ettie winced. 

"And when did you learn this?" Remus asked coldly, still refusing to meet her eyes. His hands were clasped together, the knuckles white. 

"Summer after Second Year," Tom said. "After I kidnapped her."

Sirius rounded on Tom. "You _kidnapped_ —?!"

"He saved my life," Ettie said sharply. "I'm grateful."

"Grateful because you're brainwashed," Remus snapped. "Brainwashed or worse."

Ettie tried not to flinch at the implications. He thought she was like Voldemort because of the horcrux. 

"She's neither," Tom said. 

"Of course _you'd_ say that," Remus growled. "Your father is the one who did this to her!"

"Okay, let's all just calm down," Sirius said, taking on the unaccustomed role of mediator. "Let's focus on what's important. Harry is a horcrux. So what are we going to do about it?"

"Voldemort already tried to remove it," Tom said. "He failed, clearly, or Ettie would be dead. I don't know much about horcruxes, but the Black Library is one of the largest compendiums of Dark Magic in Europe, if not the world. I'm sure we can find answers here."

Sirius looked cautiously hopeful and Remus looked like someone had turned him into stone. Ettie had a sneaking suspicion he was only there for Sirius. She hoped her uncle hadn't added himself to the list of people she couldn't trust with her back. 

...

The next week solid was taken up by research. Apparently the Black Library actually had quite a few (meaning four) books on horcruxes. Well, not _on_ horcruxes, but horcruxes were included or mentioned. That was pretty good, considering how rare the topic was. 

"This here says the only reliable way to repair a ripped soul is through regret," Sirius said, thumbing through an old tome that kept trying to bite his fingers off. "Fat lotta good that is."

But Tom was contemplative for the remainder of the day. 

~You don't actually think Voldemort could regret killing people, do you?~ she asked incredulously.

Tom shook his head. ~Voldemort, no. But as you said...I am not him.~

Ettie blinked rapidly.

~You mean...~ 

~Maybe,~ Tom hedged. ~I have already...experienced a degree of...discomfort when killing. I don't know how it would work when he is still the nexus, but...maybe.~

The next big discovery almost had Sirius pissing himself. 

"Guys! There's a way to transfer a horcrux to a new container," he yelled. "It doesn't actually say how, but it mentions that it exists—! You don't look happy. Remus, why don't you look happy?"

"Voldemort already tried that," Remus reminded him.

"He wasn't exactly keen on having a bit of his soul in the little girl that blew him up as a baby. It didn't work," Ettie said. 

He deflated. 

"Don't worry," Tom said. "I'm sure we'll find something."

But they combed the entire library to no avail. That was all they had. They emerged from the haze of book-devouring research they're been in and Sirius sat down and read the morning paper for once. He growled and threw it away.

"Dumbledore," he spat. Ettie glanced over it and her gut curdled. Apparently Dumbledore had gone public with his lie about Voldemort maiming Ettie and now it was all anyone could talk about. 

"I can't believe I trusted him," he said, burying his face in his hands. Remus rubbed his back soothingly. Ettie wished she knew how to comfort people. And Tom stuffed another bite a toast into his mouth.

"I have to go," he said, regretfully eyeing another piece. 

"Take some with you," Sirius offered. Tom laughed. 

"Being Lord Voldemort's lapdog isn't exactly a great environment for bringing breakfast to work, but thank you."

He pecked Ettie on the cheek, blew out a fortifying breath, and left. Remus looked troubled. 

"It's so easy to forget he's a Death Eater," he murmured to himself. 

"He's not, really," Ettie said. "He doesn't actually do what they do, which of course just pisses them off. I think Voldemort just keeps him around for kicks, but hey. Our gain, right?"

Remus didn't say anything. Apparently he had remembered he was supposed to be pretending she didn't exist. 

Ettie finished her egg and stood up. She'd been slacking the past week and could practically feel the muscles in her arm atrophying. It was time to get back to work.

...

Aurora looked around the room curiously. The Order of the Phoenix had certainly grown in the past few weeks—Dumbledore's little lie had driven up recruitment like nothing else. 

"Can I sit here?"

Aurora looked up and grinned at the woman standing there. 

"Sure," Aurora chirped, moving her bad. "I'm Aurora Sinistra."

"Michelle Abbott," the woman introduced. 

"Any relation to Hannah Abbott?" Aurora asked. 

"My daughter," Michelle said. 

"She's a good student," she said truthfully. 

"She'd be better if she didn't have so much sympathy for the Dark," Michelle said, rather _darkly_. Aurora didn't recall Miss Abbott displaying anything but fear and disgust towards anything not staunchly Light. 

"That's too bad," she said sympathetically. "Raising kids can be tough."

And Michelle was off on a rant that had less to do with parenthood and more to do with the Dangers of Evil and Spread of Darkness. Morgana, she could _hear_ the capital letters. 

But Aurora sat back and did what she did best: pretend to care. 

...

"Boy."

"What?"

"Bring me the girl."

...

"You don't have to go," Sirius practically begged. 

"I really do," Ettie disagreed. "Voldemort won't kill me, but if I don't come when he calls it'll only be worse next time. And there _will_ be a next time."

At least she'd gotten straight Os last year. That was one reason to torture her gone. Not that Voldemort needed an excuse. 

"You're not a dog," Sirius said angrily. "Bambi, don't go, please. I can't stand you getting hurt."

Ettie bit down a sarcastic response. It wasn't like she wanted to go! She was _terrified_ of Voldemort, she hated him! But she had to keep up pretences or they would all be in danger.

"I'll see you soon," was all she said. 

"Be careful," Remus said. Contrary to the care implied by his words, he was glaring daggers. Like somehow it was her fault. Merlin, if she'd known he could be such a dick... But then again, she probably deserved it. 

Ettie took Tom's hand and let him apparate her away. They walked into Slytherin Manor and it was more of a challenge than usual to keep her head up. Most of the Death Eaters had gotten used to seeing her there and ignored her. Now, though, they stopped and stared, silver masks looking through her. It made her skin itch. 

"Ettie," Voldemort greeted pleasantly. They were meeting in his study instead of the Throne Room. 

"Voldemort," Ettie said quietly. She braced herself for torture, for a smack or a curse. Instead Voldemort silently beckoned her forward. She went. He examined the sleeve of her robe, which she had hemmed into a little cap to cover the remains of her arm. She wished she hadn't now, missing the extra fabric that would have obscured her weakness. 

"It looks lovely," Voldemort said, and she almost choked. The Dark Lord had just complimented her on her fashion choice. What the fuck. 

"...Thanks."

"Still no feeling?" Voldemort checked, pressing his long fingers into her stump. Ettie froze. 

"No," Tom said for her. "None."

Voldemort hummed, kneading her numb flesh. Touching her like he had any right to. Touching her where—

Ettie swallowed down bile and stepped away so quickly she bumped into Tom's chest. Voldemort let her go. 

"I have realized," he said as if nothing had happened, "that I have not been treating you as you deserve, Ettie. I have been needlessly cruel, and for that you have my apologies."

Ettie nodded jerkily, unable to say a single word. But Voldemort wasn't done. 

"I want you to know that you will be safe with me from now on. I will not hurt you when you don't deserve it and no one else will be allowed to hurt you at all." He finished and looked at her expectantly. 

Ettie swallowed. "Thank you."

"Of course." He smiled, a lipless, terrifying thing. "Now, I have something I must ask of you. The vermin who destroyed my locket—does it still live?"

Fuck.

"Yes," she whispered. "He's—"

Alive and happy, probably puttering around the kitchen right now, grumbling about half breeds but secretly delight to have a family to serve again. 

"I want you to call him."

"I..." Ettie trailed off, mind grasping for a reason to refuse. She couldn't find one. "Okay."

"Well?" A hint of impatience crept into Voldemort's voice. Ettie cleared her throat. 

"Kreacher!" she called. 

"Yes Missy Potter-Black, you is—ack!" Ettie squeezed her eyes shut, unable to watch. 

"Look," Voldemort commanded. Ettie looked. Kreacher stared back up at her, huge eyes streaming with tears as he clawed silently at his throat. 

"Don't," Ettie found herself saying. Voldemort turned to her. 

"Don't? Don't what, Harriet Potter?"

"I...n-nothing."

"Don't kill it?" Voldemort said lightly. "Don't punish the traitor responsible for the destruction of one of my horcruxes?"

"No," she said, the words like ash. "I'm sorry."

Voldemort turned back to Kreacher, releasing the poor elf from the invisible hold on his throat. Kreacher gasped noisily, releasing each breath as a shuddering sob. He reached towards Ettie. 

"Missy—"

"Did I say you could speak?" Voldemort snarled. His wand slashed through the air and Kreacher shrieked. His outstretched hand thumped to the floor. 

"NO!" Ettie cried, lunging forward. Tom grabbed her from behind. Voldemort gestured again and Kreacher's other arm was ripped from its socket with a wet snap, flying clear across the room. Hot blood splattered Ettie's face. Another flick of a wand and Kreacher was on the floor as his legs crumpled in on themselves. He was screaming, and so was someone else, an awful high pitched keening. 

"Stop your whimpering," Voldemort said boredly, and Ettie's mouth snapped shut. It was her making that noise. "Now kill it."

Ettie couldn't look away from the twitching torso and head laying in a pool of rapidly growing blood. She couldn't—Kreacher—

"Do it," Tom breathed in her ear. "Ettie—he'll die anyway."

Ettie slowly fumbled for the wand at her belt and leveled it at the elf. 

"You know the words," Voldemort urged. He was so fucking calm. She wanted to rip _his_ limbs off and see how well he took it. She stared straight at Voldemort, Kreacher in her peripheral vision. 

"Avada Kedavra," she said. Kreacher went still but in her mind, it was Voldemort who fell like a puppet with cut strings, pale limbs akimbo, spread in an ungainly sprawl. 

Voldemort smiled. 

...

 _Monster_. 

Ettie didn't go back to Grimmauld Place. She couldn't. How could she look her uncles in the eye, knowing she had just killed someone in cold blood? Remus was right. She had been corrupted. 

_Monster_. 

So Ettie broke away from Tom at the apparition point and ran, charging blindly into the woods. She saw lights up ahead and went the other way, crying so hard she could barely tell where she was going. 

_Monster_. 

Ettie cried out as she tripped over a root and went tumbling down an incline, hitting her head on the hard packed earth of a path. She laid there and continued to sob. 

_Monster_. 

It was a long time before the tears dried and even longer before Ettie could convince herself to move. Dawn had come while she cried into the dirt, illuminating a crumbling wooden shack half hidden behind the trees. Ettie stumbled towards it.

 _Monster_. 

The door swung open before she touched it, the skeleton of a snake nailed to the door clattering inside a husk of dried skin. The inside of the hut was familiar but only vaguely, as if she'd seen it in a dream once. 

_Monster_.

Footsteps, smudged against the thick dust across the floor, caught her eye. Ettie followed them into the house, wand out, moving carefully. She reached what must have been a meager library at one time, broken shelves leaning against one wall, holding scattered few books ruined beyond repair. 

_Monster_. 

Her foot sent something skittering across the rotting floorboards. Ettie crouched to get a good look it it and frowned. A simple black pebble, polished to a shine, sat in a patch light coming through the holes in the roof. It took a second for Ettie to realize what was off about that. 

_Monster_. 

Ettie levitated the stone up to see it better, wary of touching what might be a cursed object. But all of her detection spells came up negative and it didn't ring any alarm bells, so Ettie tucked her wand away and let the pebble fall into her hand. 

_Monst_ —

"Don't you dare."

Ettie whipped around, looking for the source of the voice. Her heart stopped and it was only sheer muscle memory that kept her from dropping the pebble. 

Lily Potter glared down at her, arms crossed over her chest. Ettie opened and closed her mouth like a fish. 

"If you call yourself a monster one more time, young lady, I swear I will—"

Ettie shrieked and dropped the stone, lunging for her wand. Her mother's form vanished like it had never been there. Ettie panted, casting her eyes all around the room. She had checked the house before she came in. There were no enchantments or curses.

"What the hell."

Ettie looked down at the innocent black pebble. She poked it with her foot. Nothing happened. Slowly she reached down and touched it with a single finger. 

Lily Potter reappeared, mid-rant. 

"—better pick it up right—Harry! Don't you let go of that—"

Ettie let go. The ghost disappeared. She touched it again and Lily was back, looking highly unamused. 

"Contrary," she said. "You get it from your father."

Ettie would have cried had she tears left to shed.

"He's not my father," she confessed. 

Lily's face softened. "And I suppose I'm not your mother, either."

Ettie shook her head. Lily sighed—ghosts could sigh?—and sat cross-legged on the floor in front of her. Her movements didn't stir the dust. 

"I know this isn't your first life," Lily said quietly. "But baby, that doesn't make you any less ours."

And that when Ettie knew: "I'm hallucinating. Or asleep. This is a dream."

Lily looked offended. "I'm not a hallucination."

"That's exactly what a hallucination would say," Ettie retorted. But she didn't let go of the stone. She clenched it so hard, in fact, that it was starting to hurt. 

"Okay, fine. Ask me something you don't know," Lily said. Ettie frowned. 

"What?"

"Ask me something you'd have no way of knowing. Then, when you get home, you can confirm with Remus and Sirius that it's true. Then you'll know I'm real."

Ettie thought about that and nodded. 

"You're not really acting how I'd expect," she said hesitantly. "If you were really my—really Lily."

"Would you rather me try to eat your brains?" she asked seriously, startling a disbelieving laugh out of Ettie.

"No. You're just so—"

"Not showering you with love?" Lily suggested. 

"Calm," Ettie corrected. "You're so calm. If I could see Maisie again, I'd be a wreck."

Wait. 

"Can I see her?" Ettie gasped, sitting up straight, then deflating at the look on Lily's face. 

"I'm sorry, baby."

Ettie swallowed hard. You would think that if she were hallucinating meeting dead family again, Maisie would be the first to appear. 

"It's—fine. So how are you not freaking out right now?"

Lily shrugged, picking at a loose thread on her jumper. It was a very life-like gesture. "I was never very emotional. I mean, I felt just like anybody, but things never hit me quite as hard as they should have. I've also been following you around for the better part of fourteen years, now. I suppose I got the freak out of my system in those first few years."

Ettie flinched. 

"What's wrong?" Lily asked, looking concerned. "Baby?" 

"Then you know what I've done," she said hollowly. "I'm a—"

"If the next word out of your mouth is 'monster' I'm going to find a way to smack you across the Veil," Lily said threateningly. 

"I am," Ettie insisted. "I've killed people! I _killed_ Kreacher!"

"That's Voldemort's fault—"

"He didn't make me say the words," Ettie denied. "That was me. _I_ was the one who killed him."

"Listen to me," Lily said strongly, scooting forward so Ettie could see the fire in her green eyes. She was close enough to touch...if Ettie's hand wouldn't have gone right through her. "Maybe he didn't kill Kreacher in a literal sense, but everything Voldemort did last night was designed to trap you. He wanted to make you complicit in his crimes, to hate, to destroy your sense of self. You can't let him, Harry, do you hear me?"

"Even if that's true, I still killed Quirrel," Ettie said. "And I don't feel guilty about it. If he were standing right in front of me Is do it again."

Lily studied her for a moment. "Did Severus ever tell you about the first person I killed?"

Ettie blinked. "What?"

"I was thirteen," Lily continued. "It was summer and Sev and I were swimming in the hidden pond in the woods. I don't know how they found us, or why they'd care to, but a pair of drunks tried to kill us. Sev's accidental magic to knocked the man out, but I drowned the other with my bare hands. She was trashing so hard she almost threw me off, but magic makes witches stronger than muggles, even adults. I held her head under the water until she stopped moving and then some, just in case she was faking it. 

"I walked Sev home after because I was afraid he'd get attacked again. He was crying so hard he threw up twice but I was just fine. I went back home and went straight up to my room and set about finishing my Charms homework. I didn't cry for a week, and even then I never felt guilty. It was me or her, and Merlin knew I wasn't going to let some child-assaulting arsehole come out on top. If anything I felt bad for not feeling bad."

Lily glanced up at her to see how Ettie was taking it.

"So, I guess the point is, if not feeling guilty for killing a murderer makes you a bad person, then I'm one too."

Ettie looked down. "But Kreacher..."

"Would have died anyway," Lily said quietly. "I know it hurts to hear, but Kreacher was going to die the second he decided to destroy Voldemort's horcrux."

She bit her lip. "I know. But it was still me who held the wand."

"And I'm not going to tell you that you have nothing to feel guilty for," Lily said. "But no matter what you do feel, you can't let Voldemort win. You can't let him break you."

"But what if he does it again?" Ettie asked, scared stiff at the very idea. "Makes me kill someone? If he threatens Tom or—or Sirius or Remus or Leviathan, I'll do it. I know I will."

"Then you'll cry your heart out, curse his name, and get on with your life. You're stronger than Voldemort ever was and have far more to live for."

Ettie's face twisted. "But I don't want to," she said childishly. "I don't—"

And she burst into tears again, wrapping her arm around herself. 

"Oh baby," Lily murmured, voice thick. "Shh. Mama's here. I'm here, baby. I'm so sorry it's been like this. So sorry, but you're _strong_. You'll survive."

They sat there for a long time. Eventually Ettie wiped the tears away with the back of her fist. 

"I love you," Ettie blurted. "I—I hardly know you and this is the first conversation we've ever had and your not my real—not my _first_ mother, but I love you."

"I love you too, baby girl," Lily said, her smile small but _radiant_. "We both do."

Speaking of. "Where—where is James?"

"Right here, Bambi," a male voice hiccuped. "I've been here." Ettie blinked and a tall, dark haired man was kneeling next to Lily. He was smiling through a flood of tears. 

"Oh. Hi."

"Hi, honey," he sniffled. "You—you're so _beautiful_. And none of what happened is your fault, okay? Listen to your mother. She's almost always right."

Ettie laughed wetly. 

"I'd love to talk more," James said, "but your mother hogged your attention forever and now your boyfriend is almost here. But you—you can call on me anytime, okay? I'm always there for you. I love you, Harry, okay?"

"Okay," she whispered. He _beamed_ and then the both of them disappeared, though the stone was still clutched in her sweaty palm. 

A second later Tom burst through the trees onto the path, bloody scratches across his face, eyes wild. 

" _Ettie_ ," he yelled, surging towards her. He skidded to his knees and scooped her into his arms, pressing kisses to her face. 

"I saw them," she told him.

"It's okay," he said, smoothing her tears away with his thumbs. "You're okay. You're safe."

"I saw them," she repeated. 

He stood, cradling her like a baby, apparated without another word. 

...

Sirius could have died when Tom burst into the house, Harry in his arms, covered in blood and dirt, face streaked with dried tears. 

"I don't know what's wrong with her," he said, just short of panicked. "I don't—"

"I saw them," Harry said tremulously. "I saw them."

Remus got to them first through virtue of being a werewolf, but Sirius was close behind. Tom set her down on the sofa and joined Remus in casting all sorts of medical spells. Sirius clutched her hand and tried to stay calm. 

"Who did you see, Bambi?" he asked. 

"Mum and dad," she said, freezing his blood to ice in his veins. "They're—you never said mum was so tough. Never cried once but dad couldn't stop."

Sirius tried for a smile as a chasm opened up beneath him, threatening to suck in everything he had worked so hard to gain. 

"That—that sounds like them," he managed to say. Remus' hands were shaking. Tom looked ready to cry himself. 

Harry frowned suddenly. 

"I forgot," she cried. "I forgot! Mum told me to ask her something I wouldn't know, so I could ask you too."

Tom swore softly. "Nothing. There's nothing wrong with her," he said tightly, voice breaking. "She's just—"

 _Gone mad_.

"No, wait, there was something," Harry remembered. "Padfoot, Moony, did mum ever tell you that she killed someone when she was thirteen?"

Sirius recoiled but Remus looked up sharply. 

"How did you know?"

What? It was true?

"She told me," Harry reminded them. "She and Sev—Professor Snape, that is—were playing in the pond in the woods. These two drunks attacked them and mum drowned one. She said she didn't cry for a whole week."

Remus dropped his wand. 

"That's—that's true," he choked out. "But how did you—did Snape tell you that?"

"No, stupid," Harry retorted. "Mum did."

"You saw Lily and James," Sirius realized. "You saw them."

"She saw them," Remus breathed. 

"I saw them," Harry agreed.

Tom looked between them all like they were mad, but Sirius barely noticed. His Bambi had met her parents. Merlin and Morgana only knew how, but she'd met them and didn't have to die to do it. 

"I'm not crazy, Tommy," Harry said. "I swear. There was this stone," she held it up as proof, "and when I touched it I could see them."

"That's not possible," Tom said flatly. "It's a children's story. Your mind is playing tricks on you, Ettie. The Resurrection Stone doesn't exist."

Her brow furrowed. "I've never even heard of that."

"You must have," Tom said. "And now your subconscious is latching onto it."

Harry looked irritated. She sat up and jutted her chin out. "You try it, then."

"I beg your pardon?"

"The stone. You try it. But you have to do it where nobody else can see, I think. Mum and dad disappeared when you got there."

Tom looked down at the rock Ettie pushed into his hand. 

"Ettie..."

"If you don't want to go first, I'm more than willing," Sirius heard himself say. It was already all he could do not to jump Tom and take the stone for himself. 

"Go," Harry urged. Tom hesitated a moment longer, but finally stalked out of the room. 

...

Tom didn't know why he was humoring Ettie's madness. The Resurrection Stone was a fairy tale, he knew full well. There was no proven instance of the dead ever interacting with the living, nevermind actually speaking to them. "Ghosts" were nothing more than impressions of magic left by a traumatic death or unfinished purpose. As far as Tom was concerned, death was the end of the line. At that point, a soul ceased to exist. 

So why was he standing in the bathroom, turning the stone over in his hand and thinking of the Potters?

"Because you don't want her to be mad," a soft, light voice said, one who almost mistook for Ettie's. Tom jerked his head up, but there was no reflection in the mirror but his own. He turned around. 

Lily Potter looked everything and nothing like her daughter. Tall where Ettie was short, colorful where Ettie was monochrome, except of course for the vivid eyes they shared. But the uncompromising sort of way she stared him down, the hard set to her jaw...

"Because she isn't," James Potter said. He resembled Ettie more, physically speaking, with his cutting cheekbones, dark curls and sharp jaw. But his eyes, even when mullish, were soft in a way he had never known Ettie's to be. 

Weak, Tom would have said once. 

"I can see that," Tom said faintly, sitting down on the toilet. "But how?"

"We can't say," the ghosts chorused. 

"So sorry," Male Potter added insincerely. 

"You don't like me," Tom observed, shoving away the constant train of 'what the fuck's going through his head. 

"You kidnapped my baby," he growled, jabbing a finger through Tom's chest. Tom rubbed the spot and felt nothing, not even a chill.

"And then saved her life," Female Potter reminded her husband, though if anything she seemed to like him even less. 

"Still hurt her," Male Potter grumbled, narrowing his eyes. "And if you do it again, I'll find a way to make you _pay_ for it."

Tom bit back a hysterical laugh. He was getting the shovel talk from his girlfriend's dead father. 

"Noted," he breathed. 

"Sirius is about to go mad himself," Female Potter told him. "Let us speak to our friends and we'll finish with you later."

Tom nodded, still in a daze, and left the room. He handed the Resurrection Stone off to Black and collapsed on the seat next to Ettie. 

"It's true," he said. "Heaven help us, but it's true."

...

Sirius clutched the Stone to his chest and waited for the ghosts to appear. 

"Hey, Padfoot," James' voice said quietly. Sirius blinked and he was standing there, looking exactly the same as the last time Sirius saw him alive. He was wearing the same robes. 

"Jamie," Sirius croaked. "James, I'm so sorry. It's my fault, I killed you—"

James surged forward, hands outstretched, only to draw back at the last second. 

"Sirius, no! It was not your fault and you sure as hell didn't kill us. What Peter did, Peter is responsible for."

"But it was my idea," Sirius said, unable to stop himself from reaching out this time. His fingertips passed through James' shoulders like an illusion. He circled them into fists and let them drop. 

"But we agreed to it," James said. "Does that make it our faults?"

"Of course not!" Sirius cried. 

"Well there you go." James looked so smug that Sirius had to laugh. It came out as more of a sob. 

"I've missed you so much," he said. "I'm so sorry."

"I know, Pads. And stop apologizing. You did the best you could."

Sirius fought back the tears. He did want to ruin his reunion with his best friend by sobbing like a baby. He could do that later. But now was for James. 

"I tried," he said. "But it wasn't enough. Harry—Harry has a piece of Voldemort's soul in her and we can't figure out a way to get it out."

"Sirius," James yelped. "You swore an oath not to talk about it with anyone who doesn't already know! You're lucky the oath doesn't count me as a person."

Sirius cringed, imagining what Lily would say. 

"That you're an idiot," she said fondly, nearly giving him heart attack as she blinked into existence. 

"Lily," he greeted, heart swelling at the way she tangled her fingers with her husband's, leaning against his shoulder. 

"Sirius. Don't blame yourself, okay? James is right. You did everything you could and we love you."

So much for not crying, Sirius thought as he burst into tears. 

...

Remus wanted more than anything to burst into Sirius' room, rip the Stone from his hands, and beg forgiveness from Lily and James. This was only slightly stronger than his desire to run far away, to let the dead stay dead and stop ripping holes in his heart. 

He sat as far away from Harry as he could get, still unable to look at her. She was the spitting image of James, her demeanor all Lily. The perfect combination of his two dead friends all wrapped up with a horcrux and betrayal. 

She had lied to them. He didn't know her anymore. She had Voldemort's _soul_ in her _body_. 

Merlin, Remus was so stupid. There were dozens of warning signs, a hundred indications that she wasn't what she said. Minerva had told him to his face how much Harry reminded her of Voldemort! If he was smart he would cut his losses now. If Lord fucking Voldemort couldn't figure out a way to remove the horcrux, what chance did they have? Harry was already gone. She might as well have died with her parents. 

Remus snuck a glance. She sitting in Tom's lap, head tucked into the crook of his neck. They were speaking in Parseltongue; she looked quietly content, so peaceful it made his heart ache. He had to look away, instead staring down at his own clenched fists. 

Whether or not it was Harry's soul or Voldemort's that was in control, she would have to die. Dumbledore was right. The very thought made his stomach twist and his heart scream out for him to protect his pup, his Bambi, his little Harry. 

But Remus lost everyone he'd ever loved and he had been so foolish to think this time would be any different. 

It must have been hours before Sirius stumbled back downstairs, his face puffy and red and split by the largest smile Remus had seen on him since Harry's birth. He handed off the Stone and flopped down next to Harry and Tom. 

Remus clenched his hand around the pebble, cold even after all the time spent in warm hands. He forced himself to his feet, counting the steps it took to get to the door. He stopped in the hallway.

He couldn't do this," Remus realized. He couldn't face them. Not when he had failed so utterly. He opened his hand and stared down at the Stone. 

"If you drop that," Lily said lightly, "I will never forgive you."

Remus closed his eyes. 

"You shouldn't forgive me in any case," he murmured. 

"Don't be an idiot, Moony," James interjected. The familiar voice started tears prickling behind his eyelids. "Of course we forgive you."

Remus shook his head. "Maybe for what I've done," he said. "But what I might do...might let happen..."

Imagines flashed across his mind. Harry, lifeless in a pool of her own blood. Sirius screaming himself hoarse. Dumbledore's head bowed, tears dripping from his face—but also these: Voldemort gone, generations raised in peace, children living without fear. 

"It won't come to that," Lily hissed, sounding remarkably like her daughter. 

"You're dead, not omnipotent," Remus retorted. "Or do you know some way to get rid of the horcrux without killing her?"

Silence was his answer. Remus pried his eyes open. Lily was staring at him, face blank, eyes cold and sharp. James was on the verge of tears. His throat bobbed with the effort of keeping them back. They both looked so _alive_ that Remus had to look away again. 

"That's what I thought," he rasped.

"Don't you dare give up hope, Remus Lupin," Lily commanded, teeth gritted in a snarl. "If there's a way—"

"And if there isn't?" he interrupted.

"Then you _make_ a way," she yelled. "What you don't do it give up! What you don't go is make a little girl feel like a monster because of things she can't control!"

"She lied to us!" he yelled back. "What the fuck am I supposed to do, pretend everything's okay?!"

"She didn't have a choice! She didn't have a single person in the whole fucking world she could trust!"

"WELL NEITHER DID I!" Remus roared. "And did you see me turning into the monster that killed my parents?! NO! She should have—"

" _You_ are a grown man," Lily shrieked, fists swiping through his chest. " _She_ was a little kid who everyone hated! You should be _proud_ of her—"

"—for what, being a monster—"

"—shut the _hell_ up about my baby—"

"QUIET, BOTH OF YOU!" James bellowed. Remus felt his mouth click shut and even Lily, who never took orders from anyone, fell silent. 

"Lily, he's right. Harry should have told them the truth so they could help her. Remus, Lily is also right. You can't blame a kid for doing what it takes to survive. Considering everything, she's actually doing incredibly well. If—if it ends up being Harry or Voldemort, then...then we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, we have to focus on preventing that, not screaming at each other. Got it?"

Remus took a deep breath. "Got it."

"Fine," Lily snapped.

"Okay, good. I think Remus needs some time to think things through. Give the Stone back to Tom, won't you?"

...

Tom sat cross-legged on his bed, staring at the ghosts before him. His heart was beating too fast and his palms felt clammy. 

"We know you're a horcrux," Female Potter had said. "We know what you've done. And if you even look for one second like you're going to betray us, we will spill your secret so fast your head will spin. Do you understand me?"

Automatically Tom's mind was spinning, trying to fabricate a counter-threat, to latch onto some kind of weakness. But what threat could frighten the dead? What weakness did a spirit have? 

"I understand," he said at last, the words burning his throat on the way out. 

She nodded curtly. "Good."

"What do you want me to do?" Tom continued. Male Potter frowned. 

"What do you mean?"

"He's wondering what we're going to force him to do with the leverage we have over him," Female Potter said. "He's a Slytherin, Jamie. He's waiting for us to press our advantage."

"We don't want anything but for you to keep Harry safe," Male Potter said, "and not snitch to Voldemort or anyone else what's going on."

"I would have done that anyway," Tom said suspiciously. "What else do you want?"

"Noth—"

"Become a spy for the Order," Female interrupted. "Make the lie you fed Dumbledore real. Save as many lives as you can."

"Do you care that I'm likely to die doing that?"

"Of course we do," Male insisted. He actually sounded sincere. 

"Prove yourself worthy of dating my daughter," was all his wife said. 

They vanished, leaving Tom sitting there with a Stone that could summon the dead and a past full of ghosts. He closed his eyes and when he opened them, a teenage girl stood before him. She was spindly and homely, with eyes that didn't quite look in the same direction and a head of wispy brown hair. Tom had never seen her in his life but he knew exactly who she was. 

His spine snapped straight. 

"Merope Gaunt," he said tonelessly. Merope smiled slightly. 

"Riddle, actually. Your father and I did get married before you were born."

"I don't care," he said tightly. 

She sighed, leaning forward and tracing his features with one long-fingered, intangible hand. Tom jerked away but she followed. 

"I will release the Stone," he warned, his skin crawling. Merope stopped, hand hanging in the air and a morose expression on her sallow face. 

"You look just like him, you know."

Tom did not know. Voldemort had mentioned that he met their father once, killed him. All Tom knew about the man was his name and that he was a muggle. 

"Where is he, then?" Tom asked before he could stop himself. 

"Here, son."

Tom's eyes went wide. The specter of Tom Riddle Sr was nothing like those that he had seen so far. He was transparent like a ghost and flickered like an unstable connection. But the hesitant warmth on his features was unmistakable. 

"It's good to meet you properly," the man continued. "And good to know that my son is not all bad."

Well, that was forthright. 

"I suppose," Tom hedged, his eyes flicking back and forth between his—his parents. Merope stared at her husband openly, wistfulness pouring from her in waves. 

"We've been watching you," Tom Sr said. "And I will admit to some despair before this part of you came into the picture. Stay close to Miss Potter, son. Don't ever let her go."

"I'm not planning on it."

"Good. Because she's the only thing separating you and Lord Voldemort and I...I do not wish to lose my child a second time."

Tom had to swallow a lump in his throat. He should have hated this man for leaving him, for abandoning him to the Orphanage. But...

"Thank you," Tom blurted. "For caring. Despite everything."

His father smiled, equal parts kind and uncomfortable. "Anything for family."

His image flickered badly and he glanced up at something Tom couldn't see. 

"I have to go now. Take care of yourself, Tom."

And then he was gone. They both were. Merope didn't even bother to say goodbye. 

...

"Harry."

Ettie glanced up warily. Remus was standing in front of her with his hands clasped tightly together. 

"Yeah?" she asked, trying to sound aloof. She succeeded a bit too much, coming across as unfeeling instead. 

"I think it's time we had a talk," he said coolly. Ettie scowled immediately. 

"If this is another rant about how I'm a liar, I'd rather not," she said, standing up. 

"No. That's not...I apologize. I didn't mean it that way. Your parents mentioned a few things yesterday and I just...thought I should get your side of the story."

Ettie hesitated. "Fine."

She sat back down. "What do you need to know?"

Remus sat across from her, face serious but uncertain. So unlike the gentle, playful uncle she'd gotten used to. She wondered which was the true Remus and if she'd ever get to see his soft side again. 

"In your First Year, Lord Voldemort came back. Did you help him kill Neville Longbotto—"

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Tom snarled, stalking around the bookshelf where he'd been listening. Ettie was frozen, staring at the man who she thought was her uncle. She'd known he was doubting her, but to hear he thought she could conspire to kill an eleven year old kid? 

"I just had to be sure—" Lupin started. 

"Get out." 

Lupin scowled. "You can't—"

Tom stepped forward and leveled his wand at the werewolf. "Let me rephrase that. Get out before I curse your bollocks off. Permanently."

Re—Lupin didn't move. He did hold his hands up, a cautious light in his eyes. "I need to hear it from her."

Ettie found herself smiling. It wasn't funny in the slightest but if she didn't smile she would start crying again and that was the last thing she wanted. 

"You need to know if I'm a monster," she said through the lump in her throat. 

"You're not a—" Tom said.

"I am," Ettie interrupted. "I'm a monster. I didn't murder Neville and I didn't petrify all those people. But I tortured and killed Quirrel and when Voldemort ripped Kreacher's limbs off in front of me, I watched. And then I killed him. I am the biggest fucking monster in this room."

"Harry..."

"So congratulations," she sneered. "You were right. There's nothing redeemable about me. The kid you used to love is gone; I killed her. She's never coming back."

"Harry," Lupin said again. Ettie couldn't make out the look on his face through the blurriness in her eyes. 

"And to top it all off, I'm part Voldemort," Ettie continued. "And if there was ever an irredeemable man it's him. If he goes down, I have to die first. And who knows? Maybe you'll even get to hold the wand yourself—"

Arms closed around her and Ettie collapsed into them, sobbing so hard she couldn't breathe. 

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I'm so sorry, I'm sorry—I never should have doubted you." Remus was crying too, the kisses he pressed to her hair wet and salty. "You're not a monster. You're just _Ettie—_ I'm so sorry. Please forgive me."

"Never do that again," Ettie managed through the tears. 

"Never," he swore. "Never. I promise."

...

Ettie frowned as she wrote out the letter Blaise sent her through the Mark—they had improved communication so much it felt more like talking than translating at this point. He was asking for permission to hold a meeting, to settle the coven's nerves concerning Voldemort. She didn't have to attend if she didn't feel up to it. 

_I'm fine,_ she sent back. _Meet at your place, one week?_

 _Yes._ There was only the slightest hesitation.

 _Good_. 

Ettie went about contacting the rest of the coven as a whole, informing them of the where and when. Now all she had to do was convince Sirius and Remus let her go. Technically she didn't need permission, but she was trying to be more honest with them.

But that could wait until morning. 

...

Ettie woke up screaming for Kreacher to run, vomiting over the side of her bed as his broken body hovered behind her eyelids. 

...

"How did you sleep?" Sirius asked warmly around a mouthful of eggs. 

"Fine," Ettie lied without hesitation or remorse. "Leviathan is having a meeting at Blaise's house. Can I go?"

Remus slowly lowered his cup of tea and Sirius looked up from making out with his breakfast. "Are you sure that's wise?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" Ettie asked. "I trust them, and even if Voldemort did want to hurt me" _Kreacher screaming, flesh tearing, bones crunching_ "he wouldn't attack a bunch of neutral young Slytherins to do it."

"I suppose that's true," Remus said eventually. He smiled at her, eyes hesitant. She smiled back in a way that was probably much the same. 

...

Cecilia didn't like what was happening. The papers were saying that You-Know-Who was back and from the way her parents were acting, they believed it. They commissioned new wards for the house and wouldn't let her go to the Alley alone and told her to stay away from "that Potter girl".

If only they knew, Cecilia thought, watching the Boss Lady stride into the room. Silence fell instantly and Cecilia felt herself wince.

Her arm was _gone_. Just...gone. Ettie had shortened the sleeve of her shirt to tuck around the little nub behind left like a cap. But even without the missing limb, she looked different. She was wearing jogging bottoms and a Weird Sisters shirt instead of her usual gothic ensemble. Her face was free of makeup and her hair was drawn back in a low, messy bun. 

Still, Ettie's eyes were sharp as she looked around the room. 

"I'm tired," she said. "So let's keep this short and bullshit free. Voldemort is back."

Cecilia wasn't the only one who flinched. 

"He's back and we all know Leviathan has to pick a stance. Unfortunately, that stance isn't up for debate: we can't join the Dark Lord and we can't stay neutral."

The room erupted into noise, questions and angry denials. Ettie let them talk, leaning against the wall at the front of the room. She didn't speak up until they were silent again. 

"I know," she said. "And I'm sorry. But the Death Eaters? They're a coven. And a little known fact about covens is that they are intrinsically at odds, at least in the eyes of Voldemort."

 _What?_ How could that be? They were—Cecilia's family had never followed You-Know-Who, but that hadn't been Dumbledore's flunkies either. And now her own coven leader was making her pick a side. 

"I know," Ettie repeated, silencing them. "Believe me, if I knew, I never would have agreed to creating Leviathan. But what's done is done, and we all know there's only one way to dissolve a coven."

Death. Death of all the Marked. 

"So, here's what we are _not_ going to do. We are not going to publicly pick a fight with a Dark Lord. We are not going to about our coven status to the skies. What we _are_ going to do is keep our heads down like the Slytherins we are and do whatever it takes to survive. Most of us are traditionally neutral, right? We'll let the world think that's all we are. And...and no matter how the chips fall this time, we'll make it through."

Ettie paused, her eyes sweeping the crowd. 

"If you're not up to this sort of pressure, speak up now. We'll figure out a way to get you to safety."

Cecilia hesitated as a line began to form. She should join it. She should get herself the hell away from this insanity. She should...she should...

"Anyone else?"

Adriana Moss scurried forward, cheeks flushed and eyes averted. 

"There's no shame in it," Ettie said quietly. "You have the right to protect yourself."

Cecilia stayed where she was. 

...

Boss Lady was going to drop a bomb. Blaise could see it in the too-steady sweep of her eyes, the way her free (remaining) hand didn't twirl her wand, in the near imperceptible wince trapped in the corners of her eyes. 

"You lot can go," Ettie said to the ones who opted out of standing with them. "I'll be in touch."

They filed out, not making eye contact, leaving the _true_ members of Leviathan less than half their original number. 

"I have something to tell the rest of you," she said. "And you're going to swear on your blood that you won't speak of it with anyone not in this room right now. Is there anyone here who can't do that? Good. Now, it all started in my First Year..."

...

By the time Ettie was done with her story, Marcus wanted to curse someone. Actually he'd wanted to curse someone since she got to the part where she was kidnapped, but now he _really_ wanted to.

His coven leader was connected to the Dark Lord. She couldn't say how, probably bound under oath, but not knowing the details almost made it worse. Also, her lover, the French pretty boy? That was the Dark Lord's son. And she was working with Dumbledore's vigilante group to spy on the _fucking Dark Lord himself._

She doesn't deserve any of this, Marcus thought. None of them did. But it was the hand they'd been dealt, and they would just have to adapt. 

Henrik broke the horrified silence. 

"So...it truly was Dumbledore who made an attempt on your life?" Marcus didn't know whether to be unnerved or impressed by how steady his voice was.

"Yeah," Boss Lady said. 

"What's stopping him from trying again?" 

She didn't have an answer to that. Marcus didn't find it very comforting. 

...

"I think we need to tell Dumbledore about the horcruxes," Ettie told Tom once they were done finagling the logistics of how to safely disappear nearly two dozen young Slytherins. 

"What? Why?"

_Because otherwise he'll keep trying to kill me. Of course, he might keep on even if he does know. But at least there's way to remove a horcrux, even if they haven't worked so far. If he really cares so much then surely he'll focus on trying to find a "cure"._

"He's smart," Ettie said instead. "He'd be a good asset."

But Tom only shook his head, unconvinced. "That's not why. What's wrong?"

Scowling at his impeccable lie detecting skills, Ettie told him the truth. He chewed his lip, a habit he had picked up from Ettie. 

"Not yet," Tom said. "I'll think about it."

...

Ron knew a few things. One: Harriet Potter was a piece of scum (right?). Two: she had to die for Voldemort to die. Three: Professor Dumbledore tried to kill her and failed. Four: it would be nearly impossible for Dumbledore to get at her through the Hogwarts wards. Five: Ron...Ron could. Get at her, that was. He could... _kill_ her. Could stop Voldemort and save the Wizarding World. Everything he dreamed about as a kid. But was it worth it?

For Neville, it was. For Hermione. For Ginny. For Madame Bones and Barty Crouch and Uncle Gideon and Fabion and the McKinnons and his grandparents and everyone else that Voldemort ever hurt or killed. 

For them, it was worth it. 


	10. i'm gonna run this nothing town part one

Ettie blew out a slow breath as she stepped through the doors into the Great Hall. As insane as everything had gotten, at least Hogwarts was still the same. But when she looked around, Ettie started noticing the empty seats. There had been a mass exodus of Muggleborns and Half-bloods from the country since Dumbledore framed Voldemort for trying to kill her. Even worse were the missing members of Leviathan.

The Sorting started and Ettie let her mind drift away, hands clapping on autopilot whenever the shout of "SLYTHERIN" rang through the air. Then Blaise nudged her and Ettie forced her eyes to refocus. 

"Before we proceed to the Welcome Feast, I have some announcements," McGonagall said, standing up. "We have a new student this year, a transfer from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. Please welcome Thomas Baudelaire back to Hogwarts."

Ettie dropped her fork. Fortunately nobody was looking at her—Tom was walking into the Great Hall, the candle light glinting orange off his dark red curls and catching in the hazel of his eyes. He walked to the front amid whispers and squeals and sat on the stool. Ettie held her breath despite herself—

"SLYTHERIN!" 

She relaxed. 

Tom joined them and Ettie punched him hard on the shoulder. 

"You dick! You didn't tell me you were transferring!" 

"Surprise," he laughed. 

"We also have several changes in staffing," McGonagall continued once the cheers had settled down. "Please welcome Tethys Fawcett as the new Transfiguration Professor and Hestia Jones as the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor."

There was a scattering of unenthusiastic applause, but Tom and Ettie took notice. Hestia Jones was one of Dumbledore's. 

"Be on guard around Jones," Ettie murmured to Blaise. He nodded, golden eyes flickering towards the teacher in question for a moment. 

"And finally, the Ministry has loaned a task force of Aurors to protect the school during these trying times. You are not to disturb them. Now, let the feast begin!"

...

Ron could barely eat. All he could think about was what he was planning on doing. Every time he looked up Potter was there, smirking with her creepy boyfriend or talking to her Slytherin friends. Where before the sight would fuel him with anger, now all he felt was nausea. 

If he succeeded, if he could really follow through, Potter would never smirk again. But she would also never hurt anyone again, and that's what he needed to focus on. 

...

The first few weeks of school went...well, they went. She met with Snape twice a week, where she could last over five minutes against him and winning was becoming merely rare instead of nearly impossible. Leviathan also met bi-weekly and as disheartening as their reduced numbers were, at least she could focus more on preparing those who remained. The rest of her free time was swallowed up by homework, Tom, and meeting with the house elves. 

The Elf Revolution had hit a considerable snag. With Voldemort's return being public, if disputed, knowledge, people were hesitant to throw their weight behind any cause he might oppose. And their biggest support base—Muggleborns and muggle-raised Half-bloods—had largely fled the country. 

"I is very frustrated," Dobby confessed at one meeting. "I is helping as much as I am being able to but still the nasty wizards is not _listening_."

"I know," Ettie said quietly, trying to think of anything but Kreacher's broken body and how easily it could have been Dobby or—Merlin forbid—Tippy. "But they're scared. When Voldemort is gone things will pick up again."

 _When Voldemort is gone_. It felt impossible, but if Harry Potter could do it, so could Ettie. She had a hell of a lot more help on her side than Harry did. 

Tom Riddle, for one thing. The boy was eighteen and he'd successfully blackmailed nearly half of the major business men in all of Wizarding Britain, was allied with most of the other half, and had plans in the works for the remainder. 

"I don't know how you do it," Ettie marveled as she watched him smirk at the mind-boggling number on the parchment he received from Gringots. 

"It's thanks to you, in part," Tom said. "Suggesting house elves. They really do make brilliant spies, the little dears."

Ettie thought she would have recalled suggesting he use elf spies, but she supposed her statement about their usefulness could have implied it. 

"What are you doing with all that money, anyway?" she asked. 

"Investing it mostly," Tom said. "Saving the rest. I've also hired several, ah, body guards for my business men. Just in case they get any ideas."

"Nice touch." 

"Yes, I thought so."

Tom wasn't the only one with big plans. Hannah reported that Ron Weasley and his band were up to something. 

"He's not telling us everything," she confessed. "But we've been training lately. Mostly dueling, but also traps and stuff."

"It could be because of Voldemort," Ettie said. 

"Maybe," Hannah said, looking unconvinced. "But I doubt it. Haven't you noticed how he's been acting lately?"

Ettie didn't make a point of looking at Ron Weasley more than she absolutely had to, so no. 

"He isn't eating much," she continued. "Dean says he's having nightmares."

"And why couldn't those things be caused by Voldemort?" Ettie asked. 

"Because Ron already knew You-Know-Who was back. I think he feels guilty about something. And he...well, I did some snooping and I found this in his bag." Hannah handed her a piece of paper. Ettie looked it over and frowned. It was a list of curses and countercurses. It could easily have been a homework assignment except for the fact that all the curses were fatal and the focus was on them, not the counters. 

"Keep an eye on him," she said at last. "Ron Weasley doesn't strike me as a killer, but be careful."

Ettie knew killers. Her Before father and brother for one, and basically everyone associated with Voldemort for another. Ron Weasley wasn't one of them. She made sure to watch him in the following weeks just in case, but nothing happened. 

...

A month into the school year, Voldemort started showing up in her dreams every so often. Not doing anything nefarious. Just...talking. Asking questions about her life. 

"How fare your classes?"

"And your elf crusade? What of that?"

"Has the Weasley boy shown any sign of further aggression?"

It was honestly really creepy how _not_ creepy it was. He seemed entirely genuine. Once you got past the snake face and extensive list of murders, Voldemort was charming. Knowing Tom, it should have been obvious, and she remembered some from their first few meetings, but he had never turned that dangerous charisma on her before. 

When she didn't dream of Voldemort, she dreamt of Kreacher. The nightmares left her soaked in sweat and panting and she _hated them_. 

"It's only natural," her mother said when Ettie summoned her. She tried not to do it too much, considering the strain it was on the magical core, but just couldn't help herself one night. 

"If I could sleep, I'd still have nightmares about the first Death Eater I killed," James agreed. 

"Talk to someone about it," Lily advised. 

"What do you think I'm doing?" Ettie huffed. 

"I would suggest Severus," she continued as though Ettie hadn't spoken. "He's not always the best at dealing with his own issues, but he'll understand and you can trust him."

James very carefully didn't say anything. Lily smacked him anyway. 

"I didn't say a word!"

"You didn't have to," she said. 

James pushed up his glasses. "Oh, so now we're punishing people for their thoughts?"

They devolved into playful bickering, no doubt exaggerated her her benefit. Ettie found herself smiling anyway. 

...

The next time Ettie showed up to get her ass kicked, she took a deep breath and blurted it out. 

"Can I talk to you?"

Snape paused, half-turned, staring down at her sideways. "Concerning what?"

Ettie bit her cheek hard. "Voldemort."

Snape reared back, eyes flashing with something like panic. "I am in no position—"

"I killed someone," she said. "A friend of mine. I killed him. I fucking killed—"

She broke down, covering her face with her hand. She didn't want him to see her like this. She didn't want him to know. 

A hand settled cautiously on her shoulder, staying there until Ettie reigned herself back in. 

"Sorry," she muttered. 

"I am told that it is...healthy to cry," he said stiffly. "Do not be ashamed of it."

Ettie nodded. 

"I assume you wish to speak with my about the death," Snape said, blunt yet careful. She nodded again. "Very well. Who was it?"

"Kreacher. Sirius' house elf," Ettie said. She threw herself down in a nearby chair and pulled her feet up. 

"And how did this come to be?"

"He stole something from Voldemort a long time ago. I—I let it slip. He had me summon Kreacher and then..."

Ettie clenched her teeth, vomit rising in her throat. Snape conjured a bucket just in time. He conjured her a glass of water as well. 

"Thanks," Ettie muttered. Then: "I don't want to talk about it anymore. Can I go?"

They hadn't talked about what they were supposed to. They hadn't even dueled. But Snape just nodded and Ettie all but ran from the room.

...

Michelle Abbott was growing impatient. She had joined the Order of the Phoenix to strike a blow against the Darkness! To hunt it down and cut it out of its damp caves, not sit around until it struck again! They needed to be proactive, not reactive!

"I understand your concerns," Dumbledore said when she spoke to him about it. "But as of now we don't have the numbers or the means to attack first. We are more effective on the defense right now."

Ha! The Darkness was meant to be crushed by the Light. If they simply _acted_ and put their faith in Magic, Magic would provide. But Dumbledore was wise, and maybe there was something Michelle was missing. But if he was simply a coward...well. The Order had no use for cowardice in a leader. 

...

Sirius swore as runes sparked and crashed and the ritual they'd spent the better part of a month creating went up in flames. Literally. 

"I don't understand," Remus said, nudging a bit of soot with his toe. "We did everything right."

"We need help," Sirius said. "We need Dumbledore, the old bastard."

Remus shook his head. "Tom refused to let him in on it."

"He might change his mind when he sees how little progress we've made," Sirius pointed out. "I mean, we can't even manage a ritual that's stable, let alone one that works. His end hasn't turned up much either."

"Alright," Remus said. "I'll see we can meet up at the next Hogsmead weekend."

...

"Alright," Tom said grudgingly when they brought it up. "But I don't like it."

"Neither do I," Sirius said sourly. "I'd sooner hex the tosser than work with him, but it's Harry's life on the line here."

"I know you don't want to hear it, but Dumbledore really thought he was doing the right thing," Remus said. 

Tom bared his teeth and Sirius growled. 

"Damn right we don't," Sirius snapped. "So why bring it up?"

"Because if we're going to work with him, we'll have to be able to get along to some extent," Remus explained. 

"I am perfectly capable of wanting to kill someone and still being polite to them," Tom said flatly. Merlin knew that described ninety percent of his relationships with his Hogwarts peers back in the thirties and forties. 

"Well Sirius isn't," Remus said. "So please, at least try to understand where he's coming from. If it wasn't Harry, how would you feel?"

"Not okay with it, if that's what your getting at!"

"Of course not!" Remus sighed. "Just try."

Sirius scowled but closed his eyes and thought about it. 

"I'd be pissed," he said at last. "But if there was no other way...if it was the only way to take down Voldemort...shit. If it wasn't Harry, I think I'd let it happen. To avenge Lily and James, to stop that monster...fuck."

Tom knew that if it wasn't Ettie on the chopping block, he wouldn't care as long as Voldemort went down. He wouldn't exactly prefer for an innocent kid to die, but it wouldn't tear him apart either. 

Sirius buried his face in his hands. 

"It's alright, Padfoot. I'd do the same thing." Remus rubbed his friend's back soothingly and Tom waited with something approximating patience for the man to calm down. 

"So when should we tell him?" he asked after a few minutes. Remus checked his watch. 

"We can Floo his school now and see if he's available. No sense in wasting time." 

"Very well," Tom said. 

...

"Horcruxes?" Dumbledore repeated. "I've never heard of such a thing."

"You wouldn't have," Tom agreed. 

"And how do you know this?" Dumbledore asked suspiciously, studying him with those bright, piercing, incredibly annoying eyes. 

"He wanted Ettie to make one, as a sort of double endurance," Tom said truthfully. "She refused but he swore her to secrecy. He apparently didn't think I required it."

"Sloppy," Dumbledore said, still not convinced. "But his loss is our gain, I suppose."

"Indeed," Tom said. "The bottom line is, if we can perfect this ritual, we can kill Voldemort without murdering Ettie too."

Dumbledore winced in guilt. It wasn't enough. Tom wanted him to _scream_. Still, he wasn't lying about his ability to be civil when he'd rather paint the walls with blood. 

"I have to be back to Hogwarts by dinner or people will be suspicious," Tom said. "But I'll walk you through what I figured out about the mechanics of horcruxes..."

...

Ron squatted on a tree branch, wand aimed steadily at the back of Potter's head. She was walking back from Hogsmead with her little sycophants, laughing, unguarded. 

He knew the words. He knew several different words, actually, but none of them would come to his lips. He watched her giggle at something Lovegood said and swallowed hard, putting his wand back in his pocket. 

There was too many witnesses anyway. 

...

"So how did it go?" Ettie asked Tom in the Chamber that night after the rest of Leviathan had left.

"Better than I expected," Tom admitted. "He was suspicious, of course, but he didn't even accuse me of having made my own horcrux. Though undoubtedly he was thinking it. I am too familiar with the process to be entirely innocent."

"Good," Ettie said, feeling a weight rise off her chest. "So...he's not going to try and murder me again?"

"He better not," Tom said darkly. "Or I really will kill him and we'll have to figure out a different way to deal with Voldemort."

Ettie didn't even try and stop the warm squishy feelings that bubbled up. She grabbed him by the tie and poured all her emotions into a kiss. When she pulled back for air, Tom's lips were swollen, his eyes dark, cheeks flushed. He cupped her face and drew her back in. Ettie buried her hand in the curls at the nape of his neck and let herself be swept away. 

...

"I'm leaving the club."

" _What?!_ "

Lavender winced but stuck her chin out stubbornly. 

"I'm leaving Queen's Gambit," she repeated. "I don't believe Potter is as evil as people say, and I don't think it's right to try and get her expelled."

Parvati's mouth worked for a few moments as she tried to find the right thing to say. 

"Are you serious?" she managed. 

"Of course I am," Lavender snapped, nerves making her snippy. Then she paused. "I've made my decision but you don't have to follow me. We—we can be friends without the club?"

She didn't mean for it to come out as a question. 

Parvati deflated. 

"Aw, Lav, of course we can be friends without the club. And you're right," she admitted quietly. "I don't think Potter is evil either. Dangerous, and there's just something about her that creeps me out...but being dangerous and creepy isn't a crime."

"Exactly," Lavender said, relieved that her best friend understood. "So, you're going to quit too?"

Parvati bit her lip. "I...suppose. I mean, I shouldn't be in it if I don't agree with what it's doing. It's just scary. All of our friends are in Queen's Gambit."

Lavender bumped their shoulders together. "Hey, are we Gryffindors or what? We can do this."

She took a deep breath and smiled, so radiantly that it almost took Lavender's breath away. 

"Then let's do it."

...

The very next meeting, Lavender and Parvati approached Ron after training was over. 

"Hey," he asked with a wan smile. "What's up?"

"We're quitting the club," Lavender blurted out. "We—uh, we don't think Potter is actually all that evil and this club is all about getting her expelled and we can't exactly be a part of it if we don't believe in it and—yeah."

Ron blinked, looked between them, and blinked again. He sighed and his shoulders slumped further. 

"Go ahead, then."

Lavender, who had expected impassioned speeches about the evilness of Harriet Potter and how important it was to get rid of her, blinked back at him. 

"That's it?"

"That's it," Ron agreed. "If you want to leave, I'm not going to stop you."

Parvati nodded, and when he didn't say anything else, turned to leave. Lavender caught her hand and pulled her back. 

"But Ron," she said, "you hate Potter more than anyone. And you're not going to try and stop us?"

"That's what I just said, isn't it?"

Lavender persisted. "You _do_ still think she's evil, don't you?"

Ron hesitated. "Yeah, of course."

Lavender frowned. "You hesitated."

"No, I didn't!" 

"Did!" Lavender insisted. "You—what are you doing running a club dedicated to expelling Potter if you don't even want to expel her?"

"I do want her gone," Ron snapped. "Leave it alone, won't you?"

Parvati was pulling on her hand and people were staring but Lavender would not be moved. 

"Gone," she repeated. "Not expelled? What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing!" Ron cried. "Gone, expelled, dead, what difference does it make?"

"Dead?" someone behind them squeaked. Ron flinched and backtracked.

"Not—not actually dead, of course, just..." But he couldn't find anything to say. Lavender, her stomach roiling uneasily, allowed Parvati to pull her away. 

"Okay. Ron. You, eh, you aren't actually planning on killing anyone, are you?" Dean asked. 

"No!" Ron didn't hesitate this time, but he didn't make eye contact either. A low, uneasy murmur began to spread through the group. Even Dean and Seamus were backing away. 

Ron looked around and desperation twisted his features. 

"Okay, yes! I was planning to...to kill Potter." Gasps, swears, a shriek. "But you don't understand! Potter is keeping You-Know-Who alive! If she doesn't die, hundreds of other people will!"

Lavender could have thrown up. Hannah Abbott was crying silently. 

"You're being serious," Seamus croaked. "You're..."

"Yeah, I am," Ron said tiredly. "It's not like I want to! It's just...my whole family are bloodtraitors and my best friend is Muggleborn. We're right at the top of the kill list. If You-Know-Who doesn't die, then I could lose everyone I care about—"

His voice cracked and Ron looked down to hide the tears that flushed his eyes. Lavender's heart ached. 

"I understand," she whispered. "I don't like it and I—I can't help you with it. But I understand."

"Shit, mate," Dean breathed, pulling his friend into a hug. "I'm so sorry. I wish...bloody hell."

"Can't Dumbledore take care of it?" Marietta asked, her face green. 

"Dumbledore tried," Ron said, pulling away. "And he can't exactly get to her through the school wards."

"Why not another adult?"

"I don't think any other adults know," he said. "And if we told one, they wouldn't believe us. No. I have to...to do it on my own—"

Ron broke down, shoulders shaking silently. They stood in silence for a long time, none of them knowing what to do as Ron cried for the murder he had yet to commit. 

"You're not on your own," Seamus said grimly. "I'm with you. I'll...help. Merlin save my soul, but I'll help."

"I can't," Dean blurted. "I won't rat you out or anything, but I couldn't ever..."

He couldn't even say the words. 

"I need to think about it," said Hannah, who had stopped crying and just looked lost. "B-but I'm here for you, Ron."

"Thanks, you guys," Ron croaked. "But I have to do this alone. I can't let you guys become murderers because if me."

"It's not because of you," Seamus said. "It's because You-Know-Who is back and if we don't stop him then my mum could die, or my baby sister. I'm in."

Lavender watched as the rest of Queen's Gambit took a stance. Most wanted nothing to do with it, but promised not to rat him out. A few—Zacharius Smith, Cho Chang, Justin Finch-Fletchley—would help. Then it came to the Twins. They exchanged grim looks. 

"We're in," said Fred. 

"We can't," said George.

They whipped around to look at each other, shock rippling across their faces. Lavender wasn't the only one who gasped. 

"What—" they both said. Fred continued first. 

"We can't leave Ron to do this on his own!"

"We can't kill a girl just to save our own skins!"

"What about Mum's skin?" Fred retorted, "or Ginny's? Are you not willing to get your hands bloody for them?"

"And do you think they'd ever look at us the same way if we did get our hands bloody?" George snapped. 

"What does it matter, if they're safe?!"

"It's not worth our fucking souls, Fred!"

" _They're_ not worth our souls?" Fred repeated, nostrils flaring. "Of bloody course they are!"

" _Nothing_ is!"

Fred reared back and punched his twin brother directly in the face. Lavender shrieked and George stumbled and fell under the force of the blow, landing sprawled on his back, staring up at his other half. 

Fred looked horrified. "Fuck. Georgie, I'm sorry—I'm so sorry—"

He tried to help him up. George slapped his hand away and stood on his own. His jaw was clenched so tight that it had to hurt. He didn't say a word, just stalked out of the room and slammed the door behind him. 

...

It wasn't hard to slip away in the aftermath of the Weasley Twins' dramatic fracture. Hannah locked herself in Myrtle's bathroom and focused on the Mark at the crown of her head, hidden by her braids. 

_Need to meet_.

A few seconds later a feeling of acknowledgement reached her. Hannah sat down on the toilet seat and put her face in her hands. 

"Puff?" 

Hannah jerked out of her thoughts at the sound of Ettie's voice. She unlocked the stall door and stepped out. She bit her lip. 

"Hannah, are you okay?" Ettie asked, frowning and taking her hand. Hannah clung to her. 

"Is it true? That—that you're keeping You-Know-Who alive?" she blurted. 

Ettie froze, then sighed. Hannah's blood iced over. 

"Yeah. Yeah, it's true. I'm guessing Weasley knows, then?"

Hannah nodded dumbly. How could she be so blasé about this?! It was a huge deal! It was terrible! It was a _death sentence!_

"How are—? You're so calm! Ettie! People are going to try and _kill_ you! Kill you dead!"

Ettie bit her lip. "Okay, hold on a second."

She crossed to the door and stuck her head out. "Oi, Tommy! You're needed."

Thomas Baudelaire entered a moment later. Hannah swallowed her protests about boys in a girl's bathroom. These weren't exactly normal circumstances. Still, she found it hard to meet his eyes. 

"We're telling her, then." Baudelaire said. He sounded perfectly neutral, even uncaring, but Hannah got the distinct impression he was not pleased. 

"Yep."

Baudelaire pursed his lips and turned to Hannah. She tried not to shrink under his piercing gaze. Then Ettie hissed and one of the sinks turned into a dark tunnel leading somewhere Hannah suspected was not the next floor down. 

"Well, come on then."

Ten minutes later, Hannah was standing in the Chamber of Secrets in a small study that looked far too normal to be in a place like that. 

Baudelaire sprawled on the plush seat behind the desk, Ettie took the sofa in the corner, and Hannah perched awkwardly on the chair Baudelaire conjured for her. 

"So, Ettie is keeping Voldemort alive," he said. "But what the Weasel and his posse don't know is that it's not a permanent state of being. Dumbledore and several others are working on a way to separate the two so Voldemort can be killed without hurting Ettie."

Hannah was so relieved she almost didn't flinch at the name. 

"Thank Merlin," she breathed. "I was so worried. Now we can tell Ron and—"

"We are not telling the Weasel anything," Baudelaire said sharply. 

"But he's just told Queen's Gambit that she has to die!" Hannah protested. "He's planning on killing her!"

"He still can't know," Ettie interjected. "It's dangerous enough for you to know, and you're not being targeted by Death Eaters. The Weasleys are. If Voldemort were to get it out of their heads..."

"But then what are we going to do?" she asked. "We can't just let them attempt murder!"

"If they attempt it then that's their problem. I can handle anything they throw at me."

Hannah frowned. "But how can you be sure?"

Ettie half-smiled. "I've survived two fatal curses so far. I like my chances."

Hannah conceded the point. "I still don't like it. Shouldn't we tell an adult or something?"

"Unless you testify, we have no proof," Baudelaire said. "And if you testify, Weasley finds out you're a spy. We can't have that."

"So I do nothing," Hannah said, scowling. 

"Not nothing," Ettie corrected. "You go along with the Weasel and learn their plans, then tell us so we can avoid them. That's not nothing, Puff."

"I guess," Hannah said reluctantly. Ettie stood and drew her into a hug. Hannah hugged back, careful to avoid the...what remained of her left arm. 

"You're a good friend, Hannah," Ettie said fondly. Hannah felt herself blush. "Now come on, let's get you out of here before anyone gets suspicious."

...

Voldemort frowned to himself as he finished Bellatrix's latest report. Their numbers were nearly up to the war time levels and they had successfully seduced the giants, Fenrir's werewolf's pack, and all but one major vampire coven in Britain to their side. And yet the common people's loyalty still lay with Dumbledore. They bought the lie that Voldemort would ever attempt to kill Harriet Potter, though he would forgive the gullibility given his actions that fateful Halloween night. 

And given his somewhat rash policies in the previous war. He had wreaked destruction on the lives of citizens, and glorious and justified though it was, the people did not appreciate anything that disturbed their comfortable little routines. This time he would work to disturb the sheep as little as possible, and see how long their commitment to the "light" lasted 

...

"Again," said Ettie, but she was panting. Blaise groaned from where he was stuck to the ceiling. Marcus growled, Millie swore, Tracey whimpered, Nwaike heaved, Adrian gasped, Cecilia whined and Henrik closed his eyes and prayed.

Tom laughed. 

"I'll go," he volunteered. Ettie eyed him warily. Tom was still the superior duelist—she might have just beaten her entire Inner Circle into the ground (and ceiling) but he had done that too, in significantly less time. Still, it was good practice. 

"Alright," she agreed, shooting a blasting curse at his head. He retaliated with a shriveling hex and the fight was on.

...

"Down!" Dumbledore commanded, throwing up a shield just as the runic array exploded, flinging shards of stone in all directions. 

"Damn," Sirius swore, Remus echoing him a moment later. 

"We will succeed," Dumbledore promised, already repairing the torn and scorched floor. 

"Maybe we should try a different approach," Remus suggested. "Perhaps a different language—"

"No, it has to be Egyptian," Dumbledore said almost impatiently. "They must match."

"Then maybe we're just looking at it wrong," Sirius said. 

"A fresh perspective," Dumbledore mused. "I wonder..."

"Tom is doubtful to let another wizard in on it," Remus said. Dumbledore nodded reluctantly. 

"Yes, you're right."

And they kept on, trying yet another new configuration.

...

George had been doubting his little brother and his club for a long time. He didn't agree that Potter was evil, didn't think they should be trying to expell her, and he certainly didn't think that she should be killed. So why was he still considering crawling back?

 _Because you're a weakling,_ a voice scoffed. _You've never been alone a day in your life and now you can't stand on your own._

 _Shut up,_ George thought. But the voice was probably right. He'd never been without Fred and now Fred wouldn't speak to him. Not that George woud speak to Fred either, mind you. It still felt wrong to be without him. 

A passing Slytherin gave him an odd look. George flipped him off, turned a corner, and stopped. He backtracked and grabbed the Slytherin's arm when he ignored George's calls. A wand jabbed into his throat and George held up his hands in surrender. 

"What the hell do you want?"

"I need to talk to Potter," he said. The Slytherin narrowed his eyes. 

"I'm not going to lead the Boss Lady into one of your traps," he hissed, like the snake he was. 

"It's not a trap, I swear," George said. "I swear on..."

What was it the traditional Purebloods liked to swear on again?

"I swear on my wand," he finished, hoping that was sufficient. The snake hesitated, then lowered his own wand. 

"Alright then. Follow me."

George trailed behind the Slytherin, doing his best to look like they were simply walking in the same direction whenever they passed someone in the halls. He still got plenty of odd looks. With his luck and the Hogwarts rumor mill, talk of one of the Weasley Twins turning to the Dark Side would be circulating by breakfast the next day. 

The snake led him through several twisting paths down to the dungeons, as if he were trying to make him disoriented. It didn't work, but only because George had the Marauder's map until Moony himself took it back from them. 

They stopped in front of an unremarkable stretch of wall. The Slytherin leaned and said something George couldn't hear and it turned into a door. He stepped inside warily, still not sure whether he was walking into a trap. 

"You wait here," the Slytherin ordered. "I'll be back with Boss Lady."

"Now hold on—" George started, but the Slytherin was gone. George tried the door, relieved that it still led into the dungeon corridor. He sighed and took a seat. The room was comfortable, if overly snake themed, with multiple sofas, armchairs and lounges. An empty fireplace sat in the corner. 

George amused himself by counting all the snakes he could see worked into patterns or carved along chair legs. He was at twenty six when the empty bookshelf swung open and Potter and her boyfriend stepped through. 

"Hello," Baudelaire greeted casually. Potter just eyed him, lips pressed into a flat line. George belatedly remembered when he and Fred had turned her into a boil-covered gorgon when she was twelve. 

"Uh, hi," he muttered, wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers. 

"I understand you wished to speak to Ettie?" Baudelaire continued. George was confused for a moment before he realized Ettie must have been Potter's nickname. 

"Er, yeah," said George. "I did."

He stalled, unable to come up with a good way to break the news that there were a bunch of self righteous teenagers gunning for her head. The snakes waited with a patience he hadn't expected, sitting across from him. 

"Do you know what Queen's Gambit is?" he ended up asking. 

"I assume you're referring to the club," Baudelaire said. "And not the chess strategy."

"Yeah," George said. "Ron is...he got this idea in his head that Potter—er, that _you_ need to die for You-Know-Who to be defeated."

He waited for an exclamation or denial, some sort of angry response or surprise. Both Slytherins were utterly neutral. George felt his stomach drop. 

"They plan on doing the deed themselves," he finished uneasily. "Is it true? Are you—?"

"If it was true, you'd be the last person I'd tell," Potter said, speaking for the first time since she'd come in. Her voice had changed, deepened since the last time he heard her speak, but it still sounded incongruously girlish and soft. 

"Well, even if you were, you still don't deserve to die," George said resolutely. _That_ got a flicker of emotion out of her. 

"Not even if it would save hundreds of people?" she asked, tilting her head to the side, curls tumbling with the movement. 

"Not even then," George said, sure of this at least. "There has to be another way."

The Slytherins exchanged a long look, expressions crossing their faces too quickly for him to read. He wondered if this was how other people saw him and Fred. 

"Thank you for the information," Baudelaire said. "But what do you expect in return?"

George blinked; he hadn't even thought about that. He should have, though. He knew how Slytherins worked. Other people, too. 

"I—Nothing," he said. They looked amused. 

"So when your brother inevitably attacks me, you don't want me to only use non-lethal force in defending myself?"

"Yes! I mean, no. Just, don't kill any of them. That's...that's what I want in return," George said, running his hands through his hair. 

"Deal," Potter and Baudelaire said in perfect sychrony. They stood in unison too, nodded at him, and left, leaving George feeling inexplicably like he had just made a deal with the devil. 

...

"I want him," Ettie said once the door closed behind them. Tom snorted. 

"Of course you do."

"I bet I could get him to join Leviathan," Ettie said, mostly to herself. "Depending on how badly his former companions treat him once word gets out that he spoke with me."

"I doubt it," Tom said. "The Weasleys hated all things Slytherin even when I was a student."

"Technically you're still a student," Ettie pointed out. He rolled his eyes. 

"You know what I mean. It's not going to happen," he said. 

"Well, I'll take that bet. If George Weasley joins Leviathan, you owe me a week in the muggle world, doing whatever I want."

"And when George Weasley refuses to join Leviathan, you owe me a week attending political events," Tom said wickedly. Ettie winced—she would hate that more than Tom would hate the muggle world. But she was confident Weasley could be convinced, even if it took a few years. 

"Deal," she said.

"Deal."

...

"I guess we finally figured out which one was the evil twin."

"I still can't believe it. No way a Weasley would ally with Potter and her thugs!"

"I always thought there was something a bit funny about George. He did always go to far in the pranks, didn't he? Fred was just pulled along."

"Poor Fred. Imagine your own twin turning on you."

"Hey, if one of them is evil, who's to say the other isn't too? Fred could be a spy!"

"I doubt it. Fred seemed pretty torn up."

"'Torn up' is not the right phrase. 'Bloody pissed off' fits better. I almost pity any Slytherin who meets him alone in the halls."

...

George was not having a great time. His dormmates had kicked him out, for one, so George spent the night in the Common Room. Then every single Gryffindor refused to speak to him, not even to insult him. Being ignored hurt worse than actually being hurt, but George knew he'd done the right thing. Hadn't he? 

It was too late for doubts, anyway. 

George kept one hand casually in his pocket, gripping his wand as he passed a particularly angry looking group of his year mates. He didn't even know where he was going, exactly, except away. George had never spent his free time alone and didn't know what to do with it. 

"Oi, Weasley!" someone called. 

George turned nonchalantly, facing Julian Davis, one of Gryffindor's biggest bullies. 

"You rang?" he drawled, a Muggleborn phrase he'd picked up somewhere. 

"You think you're invincible, don't you?" Davis sneered, an expression worthy of any Slytherin. "But you're all on your own, now."

George couldn't conceal how the words hurt him. Davis grinned and stepped closer while his court of groupies however behind with eager expressions. 

"Poor baby," Davis said with false sympthy. 

"Fuck off, Davis," George snapped, only to get shoved hard in the chest. He was a beater, though, and barely swayed with the motion. He pulled out his wand.

Davis looked like Christmas had come early. 

"Weasley wants to fight, boys!" he crowed, taking out his own wand. "Isn't this a—ARGH!"

George got him with Ginny's favorite hex and the boogey-bats crawled out of his nose, attacking his face with vigor. He nailed the next bully with a jelly legs before they could react, but that was the end of his head start. 

"GET HIM!" Davis roared. George whipped up a shield just in time to catch about six jinxes that would have made his life hell. Unfortunately to return fire, he would have to lower the shield. George debated the merits of bolting, but before he could decide, a rain of spells took the bullies down in seconds. George turned to see a group of three Slytherins standing behind him. 

He raised his wand, ready to attack, but they only nodded at him and kept walking. George stood there, dumbstruck. Had tipping off Potter really made him safe from the snakes? That wasn't part of the deal. He didn't _want_ their help. He didn't want anything to do with them!

"Hey!" he shouted after the group, which he recognized as the younger years who followed Potter everywhere. They turned to meet him. 

"Yes, Weasley?" the only girl—he thought she was a Fawcett—asked with a raised brow. 

"I don't need your help," he spat. 

"Really?" she said sweetly. "Because it looked like you were about to get creamed."

"I don't _want_ your help," he amended, because dammit, she was right. "Just because I don't want Potter dead doesn't mean we're friends."

"No, it makes us allies," Fawcett said. "See you around, Weasley."

They walked off, leaving George standing there fuming. 

...

Pansy Parkinson bore down on Cecilia that evening, flanked by Greengrass and Moon. Cecilia looked up and smiled her most innocent smile, the really annoying one. 

"Can I help you?"

"You protected a Weasel today," Parkinson accused. 

Cecilia nodded pleasantly. "Yes, of course."

That threw her off. 

"You're admitting it?" she said incredulously. "Why? Why would you defend a filthy Gryffindor?"

"He's an ally to the Boss Lady," Cecilia said. "She told us to help out if we saw him in trouble."

Parkinson's face darkened. "Potter," she spat. "Showing her true colors—she's a Dumbledore sympathizer!"

Cecilia couldn't help but snort. Parkinson all but pounced. 

"So she's not, then?" she asked eagerly, dropping the disdainful act like it had never been there. "She supports the Dark Lord?"

Cecilia cursed herself. It was all a ploy—she should have known better, dammit! 

"Who I support is nobody's business but mine," Ettie said coldly, stepping out of the shadows from absolutely nowhere. "Mine and Leviathan's."

Parkinson turned simpering. "Of course! I apologize; I was only concerned for your safety."

"Sure," Ettie said. "Now scram. Cecilia, with me."

Cecilia hurried to gather up her things as Parkinson stomped away in a huff. 

"I'm sorry, Boss," she said once they'd left the Common Room. "I wasn't thinking."

"Correct," Ettie said, but she didn't seem upset. "Do better next time."

"Yes milady."

...

"George."

He stopped dead. Fred didn't say anything else, just stood there with a anguished expression, waiting. 

"Fred."

George didn't know his own voice could sound so cold. Fred winced. 

"Can...can we talk?"

George blinked. He has never expected his brother to be the one to extend the olive branch; that had always been George when they squabbled before. Guess Fred knew he wasn't backing down on this one. Couldn't back down. 

"Sure," he said. Without discussing it, they used the secret passages to get to the Hide Away. George's heart ached as the thoughtless synchrony reminded him of what they used to have. 

They got to the Hide Away and just...stood there, silently, among boxes of half-finished joke products and doctored sweets. 

"What did you want?" George asked eventually, unable to stand the quiet where there should be chatter and laughter and explosions. 

"To talk. I...I'm sorry, Georgie. I never should have hit you."

George's heart leapt. 

"I forgive you," he said instantly, anything to go back to being Gred and Forge. To being _brothers_. 

Fred exhaled shakily, but he was grinning. "Thank fuck. I was worried there for a minute; I've never seen you get so stubborn about something before."

George was smiling too, but he felt it falter at the mention of _why_ they'd split in the first place. 

"I'm not changing my mind," he warned his twin. Fred shook his vigorously. 

"No, I know. I know you won't. I get that. I just...I can't live without you, Georgie. I can't."

George thought that was a little dramatic, but he understood the sentiment. "I love you too, Freddie."

"So...twinsies?" Fred said impishly. 

George laughed. "Twinsies."

And for an hour or two, everything was back to normal. Then Fred went to leave for the next Queen's Gambit meeting, now quite literally the Kill Potter Club and George's blood froze. 

"You're still going to do it?" he breathed. Fred frowned, instantly defensive. 

"Just because I apologized doesn't mean I changed my mind," he snapped. "You didn't either."

"Yeah, but you've made up your mind to kill a girl," George yelled, throwing his hands in the air. 

"You know she's more than just some girl," Fred shot back. "It has to be done—"

George was not having this fight again. "Okay, fine. For the sake of the argument, let's say it does. That doesn't mean it has to be _you_ , Fred! Dumbledore—"

"Dumbledore already failed once and You-Know-Who is killing people as we speak!" Fred shook his head. "It does have to be us."

"Fred, _stop_." George couldn't seem to catch his breath—or his temper for that matter. "What the fuck is wrong with you? I don't want my brother to be a murderer—"

"Well I don't want my brother to be a coward," Fred snarled, "but we can see how that turned out! You know, Lee told me that you tipped Potter off. I could almost believe it—"

"So what if I did?" George interrupted. Fred's face went blank with shock and then _twisted_. His mouth opened and closed, but for the first time in his life, Fred Weasley was speechless. 

"I didn't _betray_ you," George said after a moment. "But killing is wrong. Potter deserved to know—"

Fred let out a wordless shout, practically a scream, and the last thing George saw was the wall rushing to meet him.

...

"Fred Weasley put his twin in the Hospital Wing!"

"What happened?!" 

"I don't know! It had something to do that weird chess club—"

"Mate, everybody know 'chess club' is a cover."

"—but Fred swears George betrayed him and 'all that the Weasleys stand for'. Ron isn't disagreeing."

"Shite. That's awful!"

"Isn't it just?"

"There's no need to sound so _excited_."

"Ouch! Sorry, sorry. Jeeze."

...

It had been almost a month since the Weasley Fallout and George Weasley was all but a pariah. It was really only Gryffindor that shunned him, but when a group of Hufflepuffs tried to befriend George, Fred proved that he would go after anyone who got near his estranged brother.

He'd even been kicked off the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, which was all Marcus had cared about at first. But then Boss Lady had expressed her interest in collecting the wayward weasel and Marcus could see the wisdom in that. 

So, when he came across the Weasel in question getting smeared across the cobblestones by a group of his Gryffindor year mates, Marcus jumped on the opportunity. 

A few well-placed hexes later, he was helping Weasley up. 

"I don't need your help," he said.

"What you need is to learn how to fight," said Marcus, who had seen better showings by Cecilia when she was twelve. 

"It's none of your business," Weasel said tiredly, wiping blood from his nose. "And stop acting like you care."

"I don't care," Marcus said bluntly. "But the Boss Lady does, so how would you like to join our dueling club?"

Weasley stared. 

"You're joking."

"Nope. How about it?"

"No! You'd use it as an excuse to beat the shite out of me!" he snapped. 

"What, like your entire House is doing?" Marcus said pointedly. "We wouldn't use you as a chew toy, promise. Boss would have our heads."

"I—"

"It's not like you have anywhere else to be," Marcus continued. "And it's in your best interest to learn a better dueling technique. Or any technique at all, frankly."

Weasley just looked stubborn. 

"Unless you think you can't keep up?" Marcus added slyly. "I mean, we have been training for years..."

"I'll kick your slimy arse any day," Weasley retorted, apparently on automatic. 

"Good. Meet me by the statue of Geralt tomorrow at three."

And Marcus walked away before Weasel could protest. 

...

George went. Merlin help him, but George met Marcus Flint and Blaise Zabini at three o'clock and followed them through a web of passages that he had never seen on the Map. They emerged into a long hall with a huge statue at one end. 

The Slytherins watched him like predators as he entered. George gripped his wand tightly. 

"Glad you could come," said Potter, one of the only ones who wasn't eyeing him like he was a meal. "I'm going to gauge your skill level and then we'll put you into a group."

"I'm only here to duel," George said. "I'm not joining your club."

Baudelaire coughed. 

"I know," Potter said impatiently. "But if you want to duel with us, you do it our way."

She drew her wand and stepped into the dueling circle drawn on the floor. 

"Now come on."

Reluctantly, George joined her. As soon as he set foot inside the circle, a stinging hex bit into his cheek. George returned fire, furious, but it was like trying to hit the wind. She slipped around his spells like she was intangible. How the hell someone could be so well-balanced with only one arm he would never understand. 

After five long minutes in which George got more and more frustrated and embarrassed, Potter put him flat on his back. 

"Not bad for a amateur," she said, watching him coolly as he scrambled up. His wand was at her feet and she kicked it over to him. "Cecilia, you're in charge of teaching him the basics."

"I know the bloody basics," George snarled. 

"Is that why your ready stance was the same as your resting one? Or why you stood in one place like an idiot the whole time?" Potter retorted. George fumed, but she had a point. DADA barely covered actual dueling, and what he did know was entirely thanks to Lupin. 

The small Slytherin waved him over happily, and despite his better judgement, George went. You-Know-Who was back and he needed to be able to defend his family...even if his family didn't want him anymore. 

...

"George Weasley is dueling with Leviathan," Ettie told Snape as she dodged a bludgeoning hex. 

"And why, pray tell, would you want him too?" He swatted away a spray of needles with a shield and retaliated with a stunner. 

"He's a decent fighter, if entirely unpolished. He's creative, which is better than practiced," she said, turning a trio of desks into bloodhounds to gain her some breathing room. He dispatched them but got nicked by her slicing hex.

"I do not disagree on his potential, but do not think to domesticate him. Weasley is conditioned to see the world in black and white, good and evil, Slytherin and Gryffindor," he sneered, charming the floor beneath her blazing hot. Ettie leapt onto a desk before her boots could melt.

"He's got a good head on his shoulders," Ettie argued, ignoring Snape's almost violent snort as she jumped from desk to desk. 

"He most certainly does not," Snape scoffed, aiming a barrage of hexes at her chest. "He's a wild brute."

"That's just rude," Ettie said and she propelled herself directly at Snape, feet first. The rash move caught him off guard as they often did and his wand clattered to the floor. Snape followed moments later, Ettie right after him. She rolled as she hit the ground, spun around and nailed her teacher with a stunner. 

Ettie grinned to herself and took a moment to rest before she revived him. Snape sat up, touched his head, and scowled at her. 

_Again_ , she expected him to say. Instead she got: 

"We will speak of your troubles again today."

Ettie scowled. They'd had four talk therapy sessions since the first disastrous attempt and she hated them all equally. 

"Fine," she said, throwing herself into a seat. "I've still been having these dreams about Kreacher..."

...

Michelle had had enough of the Order of the Phoenix. Albus Dumbledore was either a sham or a fool and she would not stand for either one. Tonight was his last chance to prove himself a true Champion of Light. 

Just before the meeting ended, Michelle and those who thought like her stood up, interrupting Dumbledore's pet werewolf. 

"Enough is enough," she said. "We have made no true progress against the Darkness! Either the Order plans an assault on You-Know-Who or we're leaving! Make your choice, Dumbledore."

He sighed and folded his hands in front of him. 

"We will be sorry to see you go."

Michelle clenched her jaw. 

"So be it."

Gesturing to her true fellows, Michelle swept from the room and our of the safe house altogether. They had no need for those cowards. They would strike a true blow against Darkness.

...

Voldemort was...irritated. His plans to bring the Potter girl around were bearing little fruit. She should have isolated herself from her friends, ashamed of what she had done, and then turned to him when he came to her in her dreams. Instead he found himself making _awkward small talk_ while the girl eyed him warily. Awkward small talk! He was the bloody Dark Lord! He was so far above small talk it was laughable. 

Still, as annoying as it was, he persisted in visiting her once a week, to give the impression that he cared. Her fear and hatred of him had been banked to more useful levels, at least. He did not wish her to be so desperate to escape him that she would turn to his enemies for help. 

Despite his lack of significant progress, Voldemort was confident his plan would work in the long run. He would cause the girl to incriminate herself further, tying her to him more tightly, and have the boy alienate her from outside influences. It just wouldn't do to have her anything but dependant on him. 

...

When Christmas Break finally rolled around, Ettie grabbed on with both hands and refused to let go. All she wanted was two weeks of doing nothing at all. Of sleeping in and not worrying about homework or training or the crazy teenagers trying to kill her. She wanted peace. 

Unfortunately, it wasn't to be. You see, for some reason the fucking Weasleys were occupying Grimmauld Place and Sirius didn't see fit to throw them out on their asses. 

"What is she doing here?" Ronald yelped when he entered the parlor with the silently feuding twins and his tired mother. 

"Fucking Weasley?" Ettie sputtered. "Padfoot, what?"

"The Burrow has been compromised," Sirius explained a little sourly. "Dumbledore offered up Headquarters."

"Fantastic," Ettie huffed. 

"Yes, well, we'd certainly rather be in our own home as well," the Hen sighed, looking too exhausted to snap. Ettie felt a pinch of guilt. 

"Yeah, it's not like we want to be anywhere near your snakieness," Fred muttered. "Though I'm sure Georgie is ecstatic."

"Fuck off, Frederick," George sneered. 

"Enough, both of you!" Molly said, rubbing her temples. "It's Christmas, for Merlin's sake."

But the twins ignored her and each other, scowling in opposite directions. 

"I'll just show you to your rooms, then," Sirius said, clapping his hands. "Er, only two are ready."

"I'll share with Ron," Fred said. 

"He'll share with Ron," George said simultaneously. They exchanged poisonous looks.

"Great," Sirius said with false cheer. "That works out nicely. Come on, then."

They left, leaving Ettie alone in the kitchen with the Hen. Awkward much. 

"Sorry about your house," she said, then hightailed it to her own room before Weasley could respond. 

"What are the Weasleys doing here?" asked Tom, who was already sprawled out on her bed. Ettie threw herself down next to him and burrowed into his side. His arm wrapped around her, solid and warm. 

"Burrow was compromised," she said. "Dumbledore volunteered Grimmauld because he's an ass like that."

"Fantastic."

Ettie smirked. "That's what I said."

Tom snorted and pressed a kiss to her hair. Ettie closed her eyes and breathed out slowly, letting the tension drain out of her body. She had missed this, just existing with her favorite person with no distractions or problems or trouble. It wouldn't last long, but she would enjoy it while it did. 

...

Hermione didn't know what to expect when Professor Dumbledore invited her to the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, but a scowling Harriet Potter was not it. 

" _Potter?_ " 

For a second Hermione was terrified that it was a trap or that the Order had been compromised. Then Professor Black entered the kitchen and gawked at Hermione. _Then_ he glared at Professor Dumbledore, who stood beside her. 

"What the hell?" he snapped. "You can't just keep inviting random people into my home!"

Home? They _lived_ at Headquarters?

"No offense, Hermione," Sirius added.

"None taken," Hermione replied faintly, still staring at Potter, who caught and held her gaze. A chill went down Hermione's spine. Those unnatural eyes seemed to see straight into her soul and judge it lacking. 

"Miss Granger is going to help us with our little ritual problem," the Headmaster said calmly. "A fresh perspective, if you will."

Potter and Sirius both stiffened. 

"And Tom let you?" Potter said incredulously.

"I do not require Tom's permission," Dumbledore said. His voice was colder than Hermione had ever heard it. 

"You made an oath," Sirius said, throwing his hands in the air. 

"And I shall keep it," Dumbledore agreed. "I have told her nothing. What she has already deduced, however, is another matter."

They all looked at Hermione. She took that as a cue and cleared her throat. 

"Well, Potter is keeping You-Know-Who alive," she said, "but, er, considering he was heard...well, bragging about his immortality before she was born, I believe that whatever he did to connect himself to Potter was an accident and that he had similar connections to other objects or people before her. Most likely objects."

"Why do you say that?" an unfamiliar voice asked. Hermione jumped and then gasped as Thomas Baudelaire, the winner of the TriWizard Tournament (and Potter's boyfriend) stepped into the kitchen. 

She glanced at Dumbledore for permission. He nodded. 

"Because people die," Hermione said. "So it wouldn't be logical to tie your soul to them."

Baudelaire hummed. He studied her critically and Hermione felt heat rise to her cheeks under the close examination. 

"You're right," he said at last. "Voldemort" he ignored her flinch "did use objects, but he didn't simply tie his soul to them. He put parts of his soul in them, a bond that couldn't be severed except through the destruction of the vessel, which is easier said than done."

"How do you know this?" Hermione demanded. 

"He's my father," Baudelaire said so nonchalantly that it took a second for the words to sink in. Hermione gasped and sprung away from him, but Professor Dumbledore put a hand on her shoulder. 

"It's alright," he assured her quietly. "Tom is working against his father for the Order."

Hermione's heart refused to settle, but she nodded. 

"The vessels are called horcruxes," Baudelaire continued. "And Ettie is indeed one, created by accident the night her parents were killed. The reason Dumbledore has brought you here is to assist in finding a way to remove the soul shard."

Hermione's mind raced. "Why me?"

"I told you this because your Occlumency is decent enough that Voldemort cannot simply pluck it from your mind," Baudelaire said. "Dumbledore brought you here because he believes you can offer a fresh perspective."

"You were in my mind?" Hermione cried, strengthening her shields automatically. Baudelaire rolled his eyes. 

"I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave," he said snidely. "Don't worry little girl, I only skimmed the surface."

"You will refrain from invading my student's privacy again," Dumbledore stated, the air around him thickening with power. The hair rose on the back of Hermione's neck and Sirius shuddered minutely. Even Potter went stiff, but Baudelaire seemed unaffected.

"Keep your beard on, old man," he drawled. "I don't have any reason to do it again."

"I will hold you to that," Professor Dumbledore said. The charged feeling faded away but Potter remained pale and unmoving. Her hand clutched at the stump of her left shoulder. 

"You two catch her up," Baudelaire said, moving swiftly to Potter's side. "But do it somewhere else."

Sirius leapt to his feet and ushered Hermione and Dumbledore out immediately. "To the library, then?"

Reluctantly, Hermione went. A glance over her shoulder through the closing kitchen door showed Potter clinging to her boyfriend as he crouched before her chair. 

"Is she okay?" Hermione found herself asking. 

"Someone who looked just like Dumbledore cursed her arm off and then this one goes throwing his magic around like he has something to prove," Sirius said, scowling at Dumbledore. "Would _you_ be okay?"

Feeling sick, Hermione shook her head. Professor Dumbledore didn't apologize for his actions or acknowledge Sirius' accusation, which struck Hermione as...odd. Uncaring, though she hated to think such things about her Headmaster. (Especially since he _had_ actually removed Potter's arm, though of course Sirius didn't know that.)

"I hope she feels better," Hermione offered awkwardly, cringing at the lacking, juvenile statement. Sirius thawed a fraction, giving her a smile. 

"You're a good kid, Hermione," he said. 

But Hermione knew better than to believe him. Not when she had stood by as Professor Dumbledore attempted—wrongly—to kill a fourteen year old girl. 

...

Ettie's plans for a relaxing winter vacation were quick to go up in smoke. The Weasleys were loud, obnoxious, and took up more space at any given time than Ettie had in her life. Lives. Whatever. 

Arthur liked to ask her about various muggle inventions, which could have been fun if he didn't have the knowledge of a two year old on how they actually worked. Frederick glared at her whenever she was in the room and Ettie could no longer trust anything around her not to be sabotaged. George moped around and scowled at everything, especially her. Ronald guiltily avoided her but his mere existence was annoying. Granger kept to herself and to Ronald, but she was always in the library when Ettie wanted a new book.

But the Hen—Molly—she was the worst. She kept _smiling_ at Ettie, and trying to _feed_ her, and telling her children off when they were rude. It was bizarre and Ettie didn't trust her not to have some sort of ulterior motive. 

Ugh. And to make matters worse, Tom was hardly there, spending most of his time at Slytherin Manor helping Voldemort with Merlin knew what. Not that Ettie wanted to know—Tom was the spy, not her. 

Ettie was jolted out of her thoughts when someone knocked on the door. She flicked her hand to unlock it. 

"Open," she called, only to freeze in shock as Hermione Granger cautiously stuck her head inside. 

"You're not Sirius," Ettie observed. 

"Er, no," Granger agreed, still standing in the doorway. 

"Don't just stand there," Ettie ordered. "Come in and spit it out."

Looking miffed, Granger did. She shut the door gently behind her. 

"I thought I ought to tell you something," she said, wringing her hands together. "It's about Ron. He—well, it's not entirely his fault, you see, because he hasn't been told—but of course that can't excuse his actions—"

"Didn't I tell you to spit it out?" Ettie asked. Granger scowled, drawing herself up to her full height. 

"Ron is planning to kill you," she said, as if that was monumentus news. 

"Yeah, I know," Ettie said. "We figured that out months ago."

However, it said things about Granger that she was willing to tell Ettie so, especially when it was her best friend that was planning on doing the deed. 

"But thanks," Ettie continued in a slightly softer tone. "It can't have been easy to tell me that."

Granger's mouth was hanging open. 

"You knew?" she squeaked. "And you didn't do anything?"

"What, did you expect me to kill him first?" Ettie asked. 

"Well...maybe," Granger admitted bluntly. "But why didn't you tell an adult?"

Right. How to answer that question without revealing Hannah's existence...

"I don't trust grown ups," Ettie said, more or less truthfully. "And besides, I wasn't sure he really wanted to kill me."

Granger looked doubtful. 

"Well, now you know. What are you going to do about it?" she asked. 

Ettie thought about it, and a slow smile spread across her face. "I suppose you'll tell his mother."

Granger blinked. " _I_ will?"

Ettie nodded. "Of course! She wouldn't believe it coming from me, and besides, you're the one who actually knows what's going on. I only have hearsay."

"But—"

"I know Ronald has good intentions," Ettie said. "Or, as good as intentions can be when geared towards murder. But I don't have to die to defeat Voldemort anymore. Are you really going to let your best friend turn himself into a killer for no reason?"

Granger was as pale as her skin tone would allow. She swallowed twice before shaking her head. 

"You're right," she said quietly. "I'll tell Mrs Weasley."

Ettie didn't bother to hide her smile. 

"Lovely. I can't wait to see the show."

...

Ron looked up as his mum and Hermione re-entered the room. He dropped his fork. 

" _Ronald Billius Weasley_ ," Mum hissed, tears glinting in her eyes. "Come with me. Right. _Now_."

Shaking, his heart somewhere in his throat, Ron followed. They ended up in his bedroom, where Mum slammed the door like she never did. 

"Mum—"

" _You do not speak!_ " she yelled, whipping around. Her eyes were bulging and tears streaked her cheeks. Ron took an automatic step back. Mum sucked in several breaths, hands clutching her arms. 

"Tell me the truth," she managed. "Ronald, are you planning on—on _killing_ Harriet Potter?"

Ron went cold and a bolt of pure terror went through him. His first instinct was to deny it, but it took several seconds to regain his voice. 

"Did Potter tell you tha—"

"Hermione told me that," she snapped. "Ron, this is not a game! This is—Ron, this is a life we're talking about!"

Ron had to sit down. 

"Hermione?" he choked. "Hermione told you—?"

"Tell me it isn't true," Mum demanded. "Tell me she was wrong. Ron, _please_."

Ron felt like he couldn't breathe. The air was thin and his breaths came too quickly. Mum raised her wand and said something and the world stopped spinning, but Ron still felt like he was going to throw up. 

"You have to talk to me. Ron—"

"She has to die," Ron burst out. "For You-Know-Who to die, Potter has to die first!"

Mum reeled. 

"What?"

"Hermione told me herself," Ron said through the lump in his throat. "Professor Dumbledore was working on a way to kill Potter and she couldn't tell me everything and Dumbledore already tried and Potter has to die! She has to. She has to! She has to, she has to, she—"

Mum spun around and charged from the room. Ron was following her before he registered that he was moving. They burst into the library.

"DUMBLEDORE!" she roared. 

...

"DUMBLEDORE!"

Ettie looked up from her book of blood curses, delighted, as Molly Weasley bore down on Albus Dumbledore, wand in hand. The old wizard raised his eyebrows. 

"Molly," he returned pleasantly. 

"Don't you dare pretend you've done nothing wrong," she snarled. Ettie was pleasantly surprised by just how vicious the woman could be. 

"I have done many wrongs in my life, as we all ha—"

"Yes, well not many people tried to kill a fourteen year old girl, now have they?" she bit out. 

Dumbledore didn't even blink. 

"Who told you this?"

"That doesn't matter! You tried to kill a girl, and worse, you've dragged my son down with you!"

It was only then that Dumbledore seemed affected. He looked sharply at Ronald, who seemed like he honestly might faint. 

"He's been making _plans to kill someone_ all year because of you!" Molly screeched. 

"I did not condone that," Dumbledore said flatly. "Nor would I ever."

Weasley started crying and Ettie glanced away from him, uncomfortable. It was more entertaining to watch his mother anyway. 

"You—" the Hen began, but Dumbledore stood and cut her off with a look. That was the kind of power he held, that he could shut down a righteously furious mother with a look. Ettie was more scared of him than she ever was of Voldemort. 

"We will continue this discussion in private," he said. Ettie wondered if he knew she was eavesdropping in her hidey hole or of he was just paranoid. Either way, Dumbledore and the Weasleys went and left Ettie to hope that Dumbledore had a plan to protect the Weasleys' minds from Voldemort. She was screwed otherwise. 

...

"Welcome to the first meeting of the True Order!" Michelle said. "You all know why we're here. Dumbledore is a coward and a fraud, but we know better than to lay meekly as Darkness closes in!"

Cheers met her statement. 

"Down with the Dark!"

"Kill the Death Eaters!"

"Hang You-Know-Who!"

"Get rid of Potter!"

Michelle noticed Hannah twitch and narrowed her eyes. There was something about that girl...she was weak, no doubt, but Michelle suspected something more was wrong. Putting the matter from her mind, Michelle moved on. 

"Our first order of business is to ensure that there are no traitors among us," she said. "We can only defeat the Darkness if we are Pure Light! Every one of us will take Veritaserum and prove our commitment to the Cause!"

The small crowd cheered again, but Michelle's sharp eyes picked out a handful of people whose smiles looked forced. 

"I will go first," Michelle declared. She pulled the truth potion from her pocket and ripped a drop onto her tongue. Immediately the world grew slightly fuzzy and she had to sit down. 

"What is your goal?" someone called out. 

"To get rid of the again of Darkness forever," Michelle said.

"And how far are you willing to go?"

"As far as it takes," she said. 

"Who do you hate?"

"The Darkness and all of their allies."

"Okay, someone give her the antidote!" Michelle felt her mouth pried open and a drop of potion was poured in. The fuzz faded away and she stood, triumphant. 

"I'll go next!" Icarus Diggle volunteered. The next few hours were a blur as people were questioned. A few tried to run, and others had unsatisfactory answers. Michelle and the True Order took care of those people the way Darkness was meant to be treated—with no mercy. 

It wasn't until the True Order had disbanded that evening that Michelle realized Hannah had slipped away sometime in the commotion. 

Anger building in her stomach, Michelle stormed upstairs and into her daughter's room. Hannah shrieked and jumped up from her desk. She stuffed something in her pocket. 

"What was that?" Michelle demanded. 

"What? Nothing mother, what are you—" Bit Michelle wasn't fooled. She lunged at the traitorous girl, holding her down and ripping the parchment from her pocket. 

_Ettie_ , it read. _Mother has taken charge of an offshoot of the Order of the Phoenix. They plan to kill everyone who doesn't agree with them and you're high on the list. I—_

Michelle didn't need to read anymore. She grabbed Hannah's face. 

" _Ettie_. That's Harriet Potter, isn't it? Isn't it?!" 

"No, it's not, I swear—"

Michelle slapped her for her filthy lies. She immobilized the girl and pulled out her bottle of Veritaserum. 

There would be no more lies for her. 

...

The rest of Christmas break was fantastic. Ronald apologized and cried halfway through it. He and Frederick were both removed from Hogwarts by their irate mother, so Ettie wouldn't have to deal with them until the following year! To add to that, Tom had been released from Voldemort's clutches for the rest of break, so she had her boyfriend to make out with too. He talked to Dumbledore about protecting the secret of the horcruxes and the old goat said he'd taken precautions. The only thing that could have made it better was if Dumbledore ceased to exist, but hey. Not all dreams came true. 

Then, on the second to last day of vacation, Hannah sent her a letter. 

_Ettie,_

_Mother has taken charge of an offshoot of the Order of the Phoenix. They plan to kill everyone who they think is Dark and you're high on the list. There's more but I can't tell you in a letter. Can we meet at the place tonight?_

_-Puff_

"What do you think?" Ettie asked Tom. He stood and grabbed his cloak. 

"I think we better tell your dogfather we're having a date night in muggle London," he answered. 

Sirius let them go with an warning not to stay out too late or he would track them down. Tom apparated them to the park where they met informants during the holidays. Hannah was waiting for them. 

Ettie stepped forward—

"STUPEFY!"

—and the world went dark. 

...

Tom woke up to their unsettling sensation of being levitated by somebody else's magic. He could feel the dragging exhaustion that came with being confined by an inhibitor and he was completely immobile.

Ettie woke up loudly. 

"Get the FUCK off, you fucking DONKEYS—" She slurred like she was drugged but Tom felt completely lucid.

"Silencio!"

She fell unwillingly silent, but Tom could practically feel the force of the glare she was directing at their captors. Speaking of captors, there were just over a dozen of them, not including Ettie's Hufflepuff, who was standing with the dull-eyed gaze of someone under the Imperius Curse. 

They were still in the park, but as he watched their attackers started to split into groups. The dark skinned woman in charge—Michelle Abbott—grabbed ahold of both Tom and Ettie and activated a Portkey. 

"Thank you for this," she said once they landed. Tom's blood chilled when he saw who she was talking to. An Unspeakable. 

"You have thirty minutes," they replied, voice perfectly androgynous, face swathed in shadows. The woman, two of her allies and Hannah Abbott walked silently through the door indicated by the Unspeakable. 

Tom's breath caught in his throat. The Death Chamber was the last place he ever wanted to visit, but there he was. 

"You recognize it," Abbott said. "I thought you might. You Dark Wizards are obsessed with Death, after all. You should consider yourselves lucky that this is how you die."

Tom tried to speak but the silencing spell was still in effect. He focused all his energy into trying to move, to crack the spell holding him still so he could remove his inhibitor. But without his magic to back him up it was like trying to shove a mountain. 

"I've been waiting for this day," Abbott told them. "I've been waiting so long to fight back against you monsters! And now it's here, but you're just...pathetic."

 _Let's see how pathetic you think us when I rip out your tongue and turn your bones to ash_ , Tom thought. 

Abbott began walking down the steps to the center of the chamber, Tom and Ettie floating uselessly behind her. Every molecule of Tom screamed for him to fight. 

They stopped just in front of the Veil of Death. Tom's heart was beautiful so fast he thought it might rip itself out of his chest. Abbott turned to face them and grinned. 

"The boy first," she decided. 

No! No, he wouldn't die here! Tom strained so hard a blinding headache sprang up behind his eyes but he couldn't twitch so much as a finger. He was not going to die. He wouldn't! There was so much he hadn't done!

But Abbott levitated him slowly towards the Veil and Tom went, as silent and helpless as a fucking lamb— _please God I don't want to die_ —he could see the way the Veil rippled in a non-existent wind— _not like this, God don't let me die like this_ —his toes brushed the archway and a cold chill took ahold of him—

"NO!"

Something grasped Tom's dangling arm and the spell shattered like glass. He and Hannah fell to the floor in a tangle of limbs. Tom ripped the inhibitor from around his neck and lunged for Abbott with his bare hands. 

...

Hannah came back to herself as they entered the strange chamber with the archway and veil. She couldn't—her body wouldn't obey her commands, but she was awake now. And the situation was not looking good. 

Ettie and her boyfriend were both immobilized with inhibitor necklaces around their throats, floating through the air. Baudelaire trembled, almost vibrated with the force of his will to move but the spells held. Ettie's mouth worked furiously but silently. They were _helpless_. 

Hannah focused hard. She'd heard of people breaking free of the Imperius Curse before. Professor Moody assigned a whole essay on it. That she was aware was a good thing—it meant the castor wasn't exerting their full will on her. All she had to do was beat the spell itself. 

"The boy first," Mother said. She was smiling. She was about to kill two kids and she was _smiling_. Hannah used her anger to fuel her determination. She would break free. She would save Ettie. She would _not_ let her friends die!

Baudelaire started moving towards the archway. Hannah didn't know what would happen if he went through but she knew it was nothing good. 

_Come on Hannah! COME ON—NO! NO!_

"NO!" Hannah screamed. She didn't have a wand, so she sprinted forward and leapt into the air. She managed to snag Baudelaire's arm and they fell to the ground, the spell unable to hold the weight of them both. 

The next thing she knew, Baudelaire was sprinting across the floor. Mother threw a spell at him but he ducked under it and slammed into her. They went sprawling—he grabbed her wand and rolled, hurling a spell at one of Mother's conspirators. He fell in a spray of blood, but so did Ettie. 

"Ettie!" Hannah cried, stumbling to her feet and running towards her friend. Ettie didn't seem to hear her. She ripped the inhibitor off her neck and lunged to her feet. Baudelaire was dueling with Icarus Diggle, light flashing between them like knives in the dark.

Mother was coming up behind them but Ettie was on her in a flash. She screamed wordlessly and lashed out with her foot, catching Mother in the side of the knee. The joint went out with a sickening pop and she fell forward onto her front, shouting. Ettie leapt onto Mother's back and grabbed her by the hair, then slammed her face into the ground. 

" _You tried to take him from me_ ," she shrieked. Ettie slammed her head down again. And again and again, panting and crying and snarling like a wild thing. 

"Stop it!" Hannah cried. "Ettie stop!"

Baudelaire downed the opponent with a flash of green and knelt next to his girlfriend. Ettie abandoned Mother and touched his face with one bloody hand. 

"Are you alright? Tommy, fuck, Tom, are you okay? Please be okay, I love you, please, I'm so sorry, Tom—"

Hannah ran to Mother and crouched down next to her. She wasn't moving. Blood pooled darkly all around, soaking into Hannah's trousers. She put her fingers to Mother's neck and exhaled shakily when she found a pulse. 

She was alive. Hannah...didn't know how she felt about that. Mother was crazy, had killed people and was planning on killing more. On killing people Hannah cared about. But she was still her _mother_. Shouldn't Hannah want her to live? 

"Is she dead?" 

Hannah's head snapped up. Baudelaire was on his feet, eyes glowing like amber in the gloom. He was shaking and there were tears on his cheeks. She had never seen him so disheveled. 

"No," she said. 

"Good," Baudelaire said blankly. He raised his wand. "Avada Kedavra!"

Green flashed and Hannah screamed. 

...

Marcus woke up to the sounds of glass shattering. He rolled out of bed and grabbed his wand. Wood cracked and something heavy was thrown into the wall. His mother was _crying_.

Heart pounding, Marcus disillusioned himself and sprinted into the living room, where the noise was coming from. Two wizards and a witch were circling his unarmed and injured parents. 

"How does it feel, Death Eater scum?" the witch hissed. She kicked his mother in the face and Marcus saw red. 

_Stupefy!_ he thought. _Avis, duro, stupefy, STUPEFY!_

That was two down. 

"Incendio!" the remaining wizard yelled. Marcus used the flame freezing charm on himself but cast a shield to his left. The idiot fell for it, hammering the shield with spells and leaving Marcus free to sneak up behind him. He stunned him and then summoned all three of their wands. 

"Floo the Aurors," he told his father. "I'll take care of mum."

" _M-Marcus?!_ " 

Right. He was still disillusioned. Marcus preformed the counter and knelt next to his mum. She stared at him like she had never seen him before as he examined her face. 

"Nothing dittany won't fix," he decided. Not that his mother should _ever_ have to suffer more than a paper cut. But he supposed he should be grateful it wasn't worse. 

"Marcus, where did you learn to fight like that?" Father asked. 

"The Boss Lady taught me," Marcus said. "Like I've told you before. Now hurry and Floo the Aurors before they wake up!"

...

Aurelia Fawcett liked to think of herself as the white sheep of her family. The rest of them called themselves neutral in the Great Struggle between Light and Dark, but all that meant was they were cowards. Out of all her cousins she was the only one with the strength to pick the right side. But several other had picked a side too. The wrong side. 

Tonight she was going to prove herself by fighting back against the Darkness, starting with her traitorous family. It was Christmas, so the whole clan would be there in Fawcett Manor. Aurelia had been given the largest task force of True Order members out of everyone, six of them total. 

They stormed the building at midnight, while everyone was gathered around the fireplace. Aurelia downed her uncle with a cutting curse, blasted her grandfather out the window, and hurled her cousin into the fire.

 _"NO!_ "

Aurelia turned to take care of another traitor but the world tilted sideways. She toppled to the floor, feeling nothing, but when she looked down her legs were gone. Gone because they were three feet away, sprawled out awkwardly in a pool of gushing blood. 

She looked up and saw Cecilia take off the head of Marcus Albright with the same spell, Grandmother tear Juniper Weasley limb from limb, and their Squib butler pull out a muggle gun and shoot Hera Jones in the face. 

Then everything went dark. 

...

Luna woke with a start. She silently got out of bed, pulled on Daddy's demiguise-hair Invisibility cloak, and crept down stairs. She didn't have to wait five minutes before a _crack_ broke the stillness of the night. 

_Diffindo_ , Luna thought sadly. The would-be assassin fell, clutching his split-open throat. 

"I'm sorry," Luna told him once he'd stopped twitching. "But this was the only way it plays out that Daddy and I both live. And I can't let you hurt Daddy."

She cleaned up the blood with a charm and Vanished the body. When the Aurors came to see if she was Daddy were alright, she couldn't let them know what she had done or it would be back to the Care Center with her. And Daddy just wasn't stable on his own. 

Humming a funeral march for the dead wizard, Luna tip toed back upstairs.

...

Nwaike woke up and dove out of bed. The cutting curse slammed into his pillow, sending up a spray of feathers. Nwaike kicked out at the ankle of his attacker, and jumped on top of him when he fell. He wrestled the man's wand away, stunned him, and then stood there, panting. 

"I suppose I should call the Aurors now," he said to himself, pleased by how calm he was. He would need this calm when he confronted his family's killer. 

He tied up the intruder and left his apartment for the communal fireplace downstairs. He threw in a pinch of Floo Powder.

"Emergency Auror's Office, please," he said. The head of a young woman appeared in the fire a moment later. 

"Auror's Office, what is your emergency?"

"I was attacked by an unknown wizard," Nwaike told her. 

"Are you safe?" she asked. 

"Yes," he said. "I have him tied up in my apartment."

"I'll send someone over right away," she said. "Please stand back."

Nwaike did, and a young Auror stumbled out of the Floo a few minutes later. 

"Wotcher," she said. "I'm Auror Tonks. Which way to the bad guy?"

"Follow me," he said.

...

The Puff was in shock and Tom didn't know what was wrong with Ettie, but he seemed to be the only one with a functioning brain. Well. Semi-functioning anyway. He mechanically bent down and rooted through the dead witch's robes until he found their wands and the Portkey.

"Come here," he said to the Hufflepuff. Ettie was already clinging to him. Hannah couldn't tear her gaze away from her mother's corpse so Tom reached out and hauled her towards him. She tried to hit him but Tom didn't care. He made sure they were all making skin contact and then touched the Portkey. 

"You—you—" Hannah said as they landed back in the park. Tom dropped the Portkey into his pocket, let go of the Hufflepuff, and apparated. 

He and Ettie stumbled inside Grimmauld to Black's shouting, Lupin's concerned questions, and all around fussing. Evidently he was in shock too, because Tom didn't remember much of what happened next. He ended up sitting on the couch holding a mug of hot tea with Ettie still plastered to his side. Black and Lupin were crouched in front of them and in the corner of his eye, the Weasley matriarch was hustling her children up the stairs. 

"What happened?" Black demanded. 

"I took care of it," Tom said. 

"That's not what I—"

"They're dead. I killed them. Problem solved." He took a sip of tea. His hands were shaking. 

"...I think we should give them a minute to rest," Lupin said quietly, drawing Black aside. They whispered fiercely but Tom didn't even try to listen in. 

Ettie shifted and Tom looked down at her automatically. There was a splatter of blood on her face but he couldn't remember how it got there. She gazed blankly ahead. 

"We need to find a way to beat inhibitors," he told her when she didn't say anything. Tom rose abruptly. He needed to get to the library—if anybody had discovered a way to beat the most effective shackle in Wizarding history, it was the Blacks. 

"Woah, hold up there kid," Black said. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Library," he said, moving to leave. Lupin blocked the doorway and all the hair rose on the back of Tom's neck. His wand was out before he knew what he was doing. 

"Get out of my way," he said. Tom almost didn't recognize his own voice. He could barely hear it over the roaring in his ears. 

"We're not going to hurt you," Lupin said softly. 

"Then _move_."

"I don't think it's wise for you to go to the library in this state. Especially _this_ library. At least take a calming draught first."

"I don't need one," Tom sneered. He was perfectly in control, just as he always was—

Ettie touched his arm. 

"Please?" she asked softly. Tom's gut roiled with hatred. Not for Ettie but for the bastards who did this to them. Abbott died too easy. 

"Fine."

And much to his chagrin, Tom felt worlds better after the draught. Lupin and Black still shadowed him and Ettie into the library but at least they kept quiet. 

— _come from an alloy found in an asteroid originally, until the Goblin Nation learned to synthesize what is colloquially known as 'inhibitum'_ —

No, he didn't care about the origins of inhibitors. 

— _affects children and teenagers far more than mature adults, leading to acute physical exhaustion_ —

He already knew that.

— _highly restricted substance, avaliable only to law enforcement and Care Centers_ —

Blah blah bl—there!

— _only known method of ending the effects of an inhibitor is to remove it or break the circle_ —

"Dammit!" Tom swore, barely resisting the urge to throw the useless fucking book across the room. Ettie tried to hug him but Tom didn't want to be comforted. He shrugged her off and stormed up to his room to break something. 

...

Hannah stayed in the park where Baudelaire left her, crying for the mother who had never loved her until the Aurors found her. They took her in for questioning and Hannah told them everything that had happened except that her mo—that Michelle had found out she was a spy. Hannah was under oath not to reveal that and wouldn't have anyway. 

The Aurors dropped her off at Uncle Timothy's, where she had to explain to him that his baby sister was dead. He didn't seem to care, which was somehow worse than if he'd blamed her and been furious. 

Instead her uncle just showed her to the guest room and went back to sleep. Hannah didn't sleep but she didn't cry again either. It was better for the world that Michelle Abbott be dead and buried. Better for Hannah. Better for the people she cared about. So why did it still hurt?

...

The Aurors came to talk to Tom and Ettie the next morning. Apparently they weren't the only ones attacked—Abbott had gone after Leviathan. Ettie's unsettled magic had shattered a vase and an Auror's glasses when she heard that. 

They were all okay, thank Merlin, but a few of the Fawcetts died and there were some other injuries. Ettie still wanted to drag Abbott back from the dread so Tom could kill her again. She was sure Tom wouldn't object. He had been a mass of seething fury since his attempts at finding a way to beat inhibitors failed. 

Ettie wasn't mad. She felt tired—when would people stop trying to kill her? Would they ever? She cried a little as she wondered what terrible thing she must have done to deserve this. 

Still, no matter how much of a collective mess they were, Ettie and Tom both refused Sirius' offer to let them stay home from school. _Hogwarts_ was home. There might be people there that wanted to hurt her, but Ettie felt safer in the castle than she did anywhere else. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the lengths Ron and co are willing to go to might seem drastic and unrealistic, but I tried to ground their decisions in their reality. They're children facing a war. Kids have been known to do some pretty serious shit under less trying circumstances. And they've been conditioned to hold an almost religious, definitely pathological fear of Voldemort. I mean, their whole society is so scared they can't even say his name. It's definitely not right, but I hope you at least gained some understanding of why and how they could be prepared to do such awful things.
> 
> As for the True Order, they're just batshit crazy fanatics.


End file.
